Where We Come From
by ArieSemir
Summary: Andromeda's oldschool crew including Tyr and Rev meet under very different circumstances when Beka backs out of Gerentex's High Guard salvage job. The Andromeda emerges on her own three years later to a tyrannical despotism that has taken control... DONE!
1. Three Years Late

_Summary_: An ensemble piece. Andromeda's present crew (including Tyr and Rev) meet under very different circumstances when Beka backs out of Gerentex's High Guard salvage job. The Andromeda emerges on her own three years later to a tyrannical despotism that has taken control of the Known Worlds.  
  
_Category_: Mostly action/adventure, with liberal angst.  
  
_Pairing_: That's a good question. Quite possibly none, but I'm not sure I can resist some Tyr/Beka or Rhade/Beka. We'll see.  
  
_Rating_: The usual PG/PG-13.   
  
Tarazed had stayed safe for hundreds of years, but it couldn't stay safe forever. Not when the government insisted on remaining isolated behind their slipstream wall and refused to join any of the new alliances that sprung up in the face of a new enemy. Admiral Telemachus Rhade had led the isolationists, and as long as the enemy was the Magog, he was confident in his path. The Magog were hardly going to expend much time and effort searching for a tiny planet hidden in a slipstream warren when there were much easier targets more readily available. Eventually, he knew, they would find Tarazed, but they would not find the planet unarmed.  
  
He hadn't counted on any major threats arising before that time, in his very pragmatic and uncreative Nietzschean way. Certainly not from a small group of human fanatics held in contempt by most their _homo sapiens sapiens_ brethren. It was hardly his fault that he had not foreseen their rise to power; people much more involved than he in the politics of the Known Worlds had failed to predict their sudden appearance on the galactic stage.  
  
They were more legend than fact among his people—and he didn't think it even mattered if 'his people' meant the tiny Commonwealth or the Nietzscheans—an unpleasant story told to rebellious youth. "Disobey your parents," or "Disobey the Matriarch," or "Disobey the Triumvirate, and the Genites will get you." The universal percentage of unmodified humans was small, but on Tarazed, they simply did not exist. Descended from members of the old Systems Commonwealth at a time when genetic manipulation was standard medical procedure among humans, everyone had some sort of tweaking in their genetic code.  
  
The Genites would have known that, of course, led by a lunatic who claimed to _be_ a member of that former republic. Many humans were modified in order to survive on inhospitable planets, others to give them an edge against more specialized species. Those few unmodified humans who found their way to Tarazed after the Fall inevitably married modified humans and produced modified children. No one had thought much of it until very recently, and by that time, all of Tarazed was in it together.  
  
Despite everything, Telemachus liked that. No longer was his planet divided into isolationists vs. expansionists or humans vs. Nietzscheans or civilian vs. military. Now they were all modified beings, impure in the eyes of a people who didn't see grey. Telemachus had always been less interested in competition between people than competition with himself. People respected that, a man who strove to better himself for his own sake.  
  
"The last wave is gone," he reported, looking up from a console. The only remaining blips on the screen were enemy fighters. He turned toward the three people who sat across from him at a round table, ignoring the few other military personnel scattered about the room. "I don't like this, Triumvirs. As an admiral of the fleet, I have a duty to protect my people for as long as I am able. My evacuation will ensure the deaths of civilians I could prevent were I allowed to remain." It wasn't exactly a token protest; Telemachus would rather have stayed on Tarazed than flee, but he had debated this point before and saw a very Nietzschean logic in the Triumvirate's argument.  
  
"Admiral, we agree entirely," one of the Triumvirs said with a put-upon smile. "Your duty is the protection of Tarazed for as long as possible. If you resign yourself to defending the planet, you will not have the chance to protect us for long. You've seen our enemy's capabilities. You would prevent no death but simply postpone it for a few hours, perhaps a week." Her boneblades flared for a moment. "As a Nietzschean, I strongly object to your willingness to die for a lost cause, but as your Triumvir, I applaud your courage and sense of duty."  
  
Another Triumvir nodded. "Nietzschean or human, we all know that we will need you in the coming months and years to take back our home. So we will appeal to whichever of your loyalties we must, so long as we can get through to you. We need you alive Telemachus, for the future. You are no good to us dead, and if you people are right," the man grinned here, "God is dead anyway, and you won't have much to look forward to should you die a martyr."  
  
Telemachus couldn't quite manage a grin of his own. "I understand. If this is your decision, I must leave you now, as my ship is prepped for launch." He rose and saluted the trio. They returned the salute, and the admiral left his world's leaders without another word.  
  
That uniform was tattered now. All he did these days was run and hide and plot the downfall of the Knights of Genetic Purity. No, he didn't plot anymore. Those months and years the Triumvir had spoken of were shapeless, and the present was painfully bright.  
  
He had never thought much of the majority of the Nietzschean people who made their living bullying and slaving and pirating. He wondered where Drago Museveni's dream of a race of warrior-poets had gone awry. Nietzscheans were universally feared but little respected.  
  
But as little as he liked the swaggering, trigger-happy state of his people, he preferred it to their current condition. The Knights of Genetic Purity set a bounty on every Nietzschean head, ignoring genetically-modified humans for the time being. Nietzscheans—and half-breeds, too—were hunted and slaughtered en masse. They weren't even warriors anymore. They barely had time to pass on their precious genes, if they were skilled enough to keep themselves alive.  
  
The Prides were little more than names, now. Internecine rivalries were forgotten—a measly positive that had arisen from genocide—as Nietzscheans met and lived in secret. Some lived only for themselves, leaving others to the Genites or bounty-hunters when necessary, but a few of the more long-sighted among his people recognized that the only way the species _homo sapiens invictus_ would survive was if its members began to support one another.  
  
It was called "reciprocal altruism" in the animal world, and before the Genites' rise to power, no one would have thought to associate anything altruistic with Nietzscheans. Then again, before now, Nietzscheans were a flourishing people, however wrong-headed. Today they had forgotten about seizing as much territory, slaves, and power as they could; staying alive was enough of a challenge for anyone. If they didn't help each other now, they would dwindle and die out.  
  
Sometimes Telemachus chuckled dryly when he thought of this. He wasn't superstitious or spiritual, but it did seem a sort of karmic retribution that the Progenitor's genetic reincarnation would be born into such an era. The father was a Kodiak orphan who must have found some bitter humor in the fall of the Pride which had destroyed his own and the mother an Orca pirate who saw the Dragan Alpha reduced to a state lower than her own. And the child was a curly-haired boy with wide brown eyes and the largest bounty ever placed on a single person in history.  
  
The admiral had lost track of these things, but he was sure the bounty on his own head was impressive as well. When they finally located it, the Genites targeted Tarazed's tiny Commonwealth with a ferocity usually reserved for high-ranking Dragan slavers. Ordinary humans, as well as Than and Perseids, were outraged by the horror the Genites wrought on the Known Worlds; if there was ever a time for species to bind together and recreate the Systems Commonwealth with its visions of equality, justice, and freedom, it was now. The Knights of Genetic Purity were merciless on its rivals, human or otherwise.  
  
"Wake up, boy," a reedy voice growled at him.  
  
Telemachus jerked awake from his reverie. "What do you want?"  
  
A clawed hand grabbed his shirt collar and dragged Telemachus to his feet. "Look," the voice hissed. "There she is. Drifting in space, waiting to fall into my hands."  
  
Telemachus peered out the grimy window. He saw a silvery blur which the battered console at his fingertips claimed to be a ship. "All right, so we've found her." His fingers flew over the sensors. "She's hundreds of times larger than us. Do you plan on firing our way into the hangars or just beaming ourselves over on a magical rainbow?"  
  
The speaker, who turned out to be a hideously-attired Nightsider, ignored Telemachus's snide question as he spoke quietly to himself. "Now, the ship's just emerged from an orbit around a black hole, so she's bound to be weak from the strain. How that ship managed to escape the singularity, I'll never know." For all his eye-wrenching taste in clothing, this Nightsider had a surprisingly sharp mind. "One good blast from our weapons should be enough to open the hangar doors." His voice trailed off. "You!"  
  
Telemachus turned his head. "Yes?" Even after all these months, his body reacted to commands without first consulting his brain.  
  
"Man the weapons system! We ARE going to shoot our way in, and you're going to be ready for any surprises the ship might have left in her." The Nightsider's smug grin was almost unbearable. "It's good to have a proper little canary when entering a dangerous mine, don't you think?"  
  
Telemachus could have killed and disemboweled this creature in his sleep, and they both knew it. They also knew that if the Genites found a rogue Nietzschean roaming the stars unprotected, he would be exterminated on site by technology centuries advanced than anything he might have procured. This Nightsider had top-notch smuggling cabinets peppered all over his freighter, which were most the wage Telemachus received for his services. An admiral of Tarazed's High Guard was reduced to a canary and smuggled cargo.  
  
When they approached the ship, Telemachus gasped. It was beautiful. It was a High Guard _Glorious Heritage_ Class Heavy Cruiser. It was, to be precise, the Andromeda Ascendant, in all her shining glory. At this distance, the damage from a battle three hundred plus years gone and the black hole were minimal; she looked ready for a round against a Genite fleet.  
  
Gerentex was right about the hangar; he fired a single shot, and the huge hangar doors gaped open like toothless silver gums. He piloted the ship in smoothly through the dark bay, and Telemachus had to repress a shiver at the thought that they were flying into an enormous maw waiting to snap shut behind them.  
  
"Finally," he murmured. "After years of waiting... after that faithless Valentine ran out on me..."   
  
For a month now, Telemachus had heard these references to a Valentine who had betrayed Gerentex, from the way he told it. More likely, this Valentine came to her senses—Gerentex's choice in invectives referred to a woman—and realized that any mission with Gerentex was probably be her last. If the adventure itself didn't kill her, the Nightsider would've managed it himself. He didn't like sharing his finds. But Nietzscheans were more difficult to kill than humans and very useful when alive.  
  
The loss of Valentine's services might have set Gerentex back a year, but he would have found another desperate crew before long. But then the Genites had arrived on the scene, claiming to fight for the lost Commonwealth while making it known that anything resembling that republic would be annihilated. So Gerentex let his associates forget that he had ever pursued a High Guard relic and lay low, organizing mine workers somewhere as he stole even-handedly from both sides.   
  
Then somehow, the Nightsider heard about a Tarazed admiral on the run. Even better, the admiral was a Nietzschean. If anyone could help him retrieve a High Guard ship and keep quiet about it, it was Admiral Telemachus Rhade. There wasn't much to negotiate once Gerentex found him; he was content with a criminally low salary and a place to hide. Most of the money he sent to a few friends who would use it where it would do the most good for his people—both the Nietzscheans and refugees from Tarazed. Nietzscheans had always said he was too nice, but what did his people care for money, anyway?  
  
Soon, Telemachus was prowling the corridors alone, checking the ship for major damage and taking control of it if possible. The Andromeda was brighter than he would have expected, but he supposed no one had bothered to turn off the lights before scrambling to the escape pods. He thought he knew where the Command center was, but that was from poring over old manuals. Now that he was in a real ship, he wanted to take his time, sightsee.  
  
Half an hour had passed when he heard a quiet, regular noise echoing around him. He cocked his head and tapped his wrist computer. It wasn't registering much activity in the ship's computer, but he couldn't think of anything else that could explain the noise. If the computer was making strange sounds, he thought he'd better take the most direct route to Command and see what he could do with it.   
  
The noise was sounding more and more like footsteps to Telemachus's sensitive ears. He was sure this was a sign of a mental breakdown, hearing ghosts in the passages. Then he heard a voice that sounded very alive.  
  
"Turn around and drop your weapon."  
  
If not for the sound of a weapon powering up—a weapon that sounded like no gauss gun he'd ever come across—the Nietzschean might have written the voice off to the stress that pressed ever more heavily on his nerves. But that sound was clear as day, and it hit Telemachus like a shot. It was a forcelance. He unhooked a gauss gun from his belt and let it fall to the floor before turning to face this impossibility.  
  
The man's voice had been so confident, but when Telemachus turned around, the man turned white. "That's impossible," he muttered, and Telemachus couldn't help observing that they were thinking exactly the same thing.  
  
It was a human wearing a very old High Guard uniform, a maroon jacket with dark blue square buttons and khaki-colored pants with a dark stripe down the leg. His hair looked a bit longer than regulation, sandy-colored and brushing his collar. His eyes were wide in shock. "You can't be here. You're in stasis." His grey-blue eyes flicked to Telemachus's collar, and a disbelieving smile crossed his face. "Your hair's too long, and you're definitely not an admiral." In honor of the occasion, Telemachus had donned his uniform, to Gerentex's derision.   
  
Telemachus cleared his throat, hoping to make this officer—captain, by the pips on his collar—realize that he was not seeing a phantom. "That is debatable right now, Captain." If Tarazed survived the Genite campaign intact and autonomous, maybe he would have the chance to wear this uniform again for real.  
  
The mention of his rank seemed to bring the human back to the present. He squinted at Telemachus. "Who are you?" And then Telemachus knew what this was about and thought he knew the answer to a question that had plagued the Rhade family for a long time.  
  
"My name is Admiral Telemachus Rhade of the Tarazed High Guard." He didn't think his serial number was necessary here.  
  
The man's eyes lit up at the words 'Tarazed High Guard', and Telemachus felt a rare burst of sympathy. "Our world was populated by Commonwealth survivors of the Nietzschean Uprising. Our ancestors were gathered by Sara Reilly," he added, with a curious look at the captain.  
  
The captain ran a hand through his almost too-long hair. Telemachus found himself suppressing a frown of disapproval and laughed silently at himself. His dark hair brushed his collar, untrimmed since the day he left Tarazed.  
  
"She told me," the captain said grimly, "but I didn't believe it." He looked up. "Your ancestors?"  
  
Telemachus nodded. "Three hundred years ago. Gaheris Rhade had nearly a dozen wives and twenty children. Most of them found their way to Tarazed amid accusations of his treason." The captain didn't look quite ready to speak again. "I believe what you're seeing is what Nietzscheans call 'genetic reincarnation'. We don't often breed with humans, and we have strict genetic controllers to prevent against mutation. It's hardly common, but there are documented cases. I'm told the effects can be... startling."  
  
The captain offered a weak laugh. "Startling. That about covers it. Admiral Telemachus Rhade, I think we need to have a very long conversation... if you have the time, sir."  
  
The smile Telemachus gave was the first genuine smile he'd felt in weeks. "There's a Nightsider in your hangar bay, but I think he'll be willing to forget the existence of a High Guard warship for a little while. He'd hate to have any mention of the Commonwealth associated with him."  
  
And so the pair walked to the Command center, and Captain Hunt ordered Gerentex out of his ship and the Hephaestus system as fast as he could. His rodent face screwed up in a rictus of fury, but he left without argument. Telemachus told Captain Hunt he was sure the Nightsider would wait at least a month before sending an anonymous tip to the Knights of Genetic Purity.  
  
They had a very long talk about the Genites, beginning from the collapse of the fledging Nietzschean empire due to internal squabbling to the rise of the F.T.A's financial empire to the mysterious appearance of this group of fanatics with technology that surpassed even that of the Systems Commonwealth in its heyday.  
  
This was all old news to Telemachus, who was exceedingly curious about Captain Hunt himself. Apparently, the ship had broken free of its orbit by itself just a week ago. Hunt regained consciousness after his deep sleep several days ago and had spent the time fixing what he could and trying to ignore what his ship was saying about star positions.  
  
A hologram shimmered into being beside them, and Telemachus had to grasp a console very tightly so he didn't jump. "Captain, I can confirm part of this man's story." Telemachus stared at the pixilated image, a beautiful specimen of human artistry.  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, "but is... is she an artificial intelligence?" His voice was quiet and reverent.  
  
The hologram made a noise like a cough. "I am. Please call me Andromeda." It... she was clearly suspicious of Telemachus but courteous enough to a man who spoke the right words, approved variants of High Guard passcodes that were still current for her.   
  
She focused her attention on her captain. "Sir, the dates Admiral Rhade has given us correspond with the star charts." This was something Telemachus gathered the two had discussed many times before. "Additionally, I am picking up faint chatter from surrounding star systems. Much of it is military and reminiscent of the Commonwealth. They call themselves the Knights of Genetic Purity."  
  
Telemachus gazed out the viewscreen at twinkling stars. They were out there, and closer than he thought. "We should get out here." He hated the fact that he was running again. "I know the systems that... aren't safe but are somewhat less dangerous than our present location." His mind processed the few places he knew where they could lay low for awhile, and then it hit him that they didn't need to lay low with equipment like this. They might not want to take on an entire fleet equipped with Seraphim and the like, but they could eliminate the errant ship that crossed their paths.  
  
He knew just where to go. The Triumvirs had hinted that they might escape there, but Telemachus had avoided it so far in order to protect his planet's highest leaders. It was among the last places the Genites would think to look for anything Commonwealth or anything Nietzschean. It was a very unpleasant place, and most of its inhabitants were unaware that it had become a refuge for the galaxy's hunted. Once it had been a world bursting at its seams with life, but much of it was faded or dead now. Vast regions the size of countries lay empty—not because they were unsuited to life but because their residents had harassed their slavers one too many times. The few people left on the world huddled in cities, marginally safer from Magog attacks than open country.  
  
This world had been mostly ignored by the Genites so far, despite the sympathy for their cause that grew there. The Genites were the reason the planet's Dragan slavers fled. These people made up a large chunk of Known Worlds' population of unmodified humans, and the Genite philosophy told them that they were pure, natural, and superior to the modified humans they envied. For the most part, the sympathy had died a quick death when the humans discovered that their distant liberators wouldn't protect them from the Magog. There was heated contention as to whether the Magog or Nietzscheans were worse, but while the Nietzscheans were around, the Magog visited rarely and briefly. It was hell living under Dragan bootheels, but it was living. With the slavers gone, no one was interested in protecting the blue-green planet of humanity's origin.  
  
Terrans died by the millions, even faster than the Nietzscheans for a few months. Someone should have been alerted to the fact the Magog raids on small worlds like this were becoming more frequent and more brazen, but no one paid much attention. The Magog had always hung around the edges of civilization like lions, stalking the herd to single out the sick and dying. If a few former Dragan slave worlds were experiencing more raids than usual, well, people had their own problems to worry about, and the Genites were a very large problem. If the Magog were lions, the Genites were rabid dogs. No one knew who they would attack next, and unlike the Magog, they didn't care how strong their opponents were. They were stronger and had the advantage of insanity on their side, which outweighed a sane survival instinct in any battle.  
  
Telemachus explained this to Dylan and his ship. They consulted in private and then agreed to accompany Telemachus to Earth to find his Triumvirate.  
  
"If they're still alive," Andromeda added with a glower. She had decided to trust this Rhade for now, but she hated being so out of the loop. A few days monitoring local transmissions while on the run weren't very helpful in this area.  
  
"If they're not," Telemachus replied, "there will be others. Some things have managed to escape Genite ears, and there are rumors of Nietzscheans returning to Earth to hide."  
  
Neither the captain nor his ship looked pleased at this prospect. Telemachus allowed himself a sigh. "I know. I wouldn't choose them if I had any other choice." He laughed and almost meant it. "If I were in your position, Captain, I wouldn't trust me. I suppose it proves the human cliché, 'it takes all kinds'."  
  
"But the Nietzschean people were able to put aside their treachery long enough to overthrow the Systems Commonwealth, and they've been playing together nicely since the Knights of Genetic Purity set the bounty."   
  
Dylan scrubbed a hand over his face. "I know. I was there for that first one, remember? It felt like yesterday." He fell silent for a moment. "But you said their empire fell apart as soon as the war was over."  
  
"It fell hard," Telemachus agreed. "And if you're in this with me, we'll worry about that later."


	2. Upon Discovering a Scary Warrant

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" A woman with disorderly blond hair pounded her fist on her ship's console and then murmured an apology to the walls. "So, what, you're not gonna let me in?"

The man on the viewscreen tried to look stern, but his darting eyes gave him away. "Look..." he glanced down, "Miss Valentine, you're lucky I don't call 'em down here right now." He swallowed nervously.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, you're not exactly 100 all-natural yourself. Are you just going to leave me out in the cold?" She gave the man a disgusted snort. "The Nietzscheans are taking care of their own better than we are, and that's the most pathetic thing I ever heard." Before the man could respond, she jabbed a key on her console.

"Harper! Looks like we're not gonna get those parts after all."

A scrawny human smudged with machine grease appeared through the cockpit doors. "What? Why? We all know my genius knows no bounds, but even I can't keep this ship together forever without an AP solenoid valve."

The woman ignored her crewmate for a moment as she read the file the space traffic controller had sent her before refusing her access. She buried her head in her hands as she read through the official-looking document. "Harper, let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"What did I do to piss off the Divine? And how can I make it better?"

Harper shrugged. "I dunno, boss. That's Rev's territory." He leaned over the pilot's chair and tried to read the transmission over her shoulder. "Genites? What do they have to do with us?" His curiosity was tinged with worry. He doubted the Maru's crew had won the Genite Clearing House Sweepstakes. They were the 'no news is good news' sort of people.

"It says we've been charged with sedition and conspiracy to raise rebellious element." She knew what the words meant, but none of it made any sense. "What, do they not like Rev or something? Because I don't remember conspiring to raise any sort of element, mutinous or otherwise." She scrolled down, and her face paled. When she didn't speak for a minute, Harper asked her what was wrong.

Shakily, she began reading the final paragraphs. "Captain Rebecca Valentine, Reverend Behemial Far-Traveler, Seamus Zelazny Harper, and Trance Gemini have been tried in absentia and found guilty on evidence provided anonymously. Should you see them or their ship, the Eureka Maru, please alert your local garrison of the Knights of Genetic Purity. Anyone who has provided aid or failed to report the afore-mentioned will be charged with aiding and abetting fugitives. They will face harsh punishment when they are located, along with any co-conspirators."

She turned wide eyes on Harper. For a moment, she was silent, and then she swallowed. "Hang on to something." She didn't answer his perplexed glance but grabbed the ship's controls and shoved Maru into slipstream with less than her usual grace.

A few hours later, she had recovered herself and was fuming in the Mess. "It was him! I don't know why he did it, but it has to be that filthy rodent!"

A purple girl raised her hand. "Um, Beka, who is this? And what did he do?"

"Gerentex! He must have told the Genites that we had planned to salvage that High Guard ship and then conveniently forgot to mention that it was his idea in the first place."

When she stopped to draw breath, the seated Magog put in a quiet word. "Beka, I do not doubt what you say, but that was three years ago. Why do you think would he wait so long to take his revenge upon us?"

It was hard to continue her wrathful shouting in the face of such a reasonable question. She sighed. But wrathful shouting was so much fun. "I don't know. Maybe he got into trouble with them and made a deal, said he could provide information about some underground rebels." She snorted a laugh at the picture of herself as a rebel leader. Beka Valentine would take a well-paying salvage job over glorious battle any day, thank you.

They continued in this vein for awhile, but Beka knew that speculation over the warrant wouldn't do them any good. It was here now and might as well be carved in stone. Genite edicts didn't come any other way. Harper had several wild ideas of places they could hide, most of which Beka discounted immediately. Even his more reasonable ideas didn't inspire much optimism in her, but then Rev said something interesting.

Harper yelped. "You've got to be kidding me!"

A raised eyebrow was all Beka needed to express similar sentiments. But maybe he had something there. "You know, I bet everyone in the Known Worlds would side with Harper on that one," she said thoughtfully. "Who would believe it?"

Rev bowed his head, hiding a tiny smile. It wasn't very Wayist to gloat.

Trance looked surprised, and that was something few people had ever seen. "I... I wouldn't have thought of it," she said in a dreamy voice. Then she came back to herself and favored the crew with a sunny grin. "I hear the leaves are pretty this time of year."

Harper threw his hands up. They were all insane, obviously, to even consider this. "No, I don't have a better idea," he replied to the question he knew Beka was going to ask. "Hey, maybe I could show you guys the statue. The Nietzscheans didn't tear it down. It's a beautiful thing."

Beka looked around the table and laughed. This really was crazy. "Then it's unanimous?" She shook her head. "We're all officially certifiable, you know." Trance was smiling hugely by now, and that was always a good omen. "All right, to the cockpit!"

She slid into the pilot's chair and gripped the controls. She hadn't been this way in several years, but that was no obstacle. As she flew, she found that the route had deteriorated a bit in recent years. All the better for them; if less people came here, there was less of a chance that anyone would run into them now. Especially Genite someones who wanted their asses on a silver platter.


	3. Another Piece of the Puzzle

Tyr forced himself to breathe normally. He was scanning the environment for potential threats with a higher level of paranoia than usual because today he was not concerned solely with his own survival. It was difficult to concentrate on the sights and sounds and smells around him while he awaited a woman and a small boy due to arrive here... five minutes ago. His nerves were taut, and sweat stood out on his upper lip from the strain of this quiet waiting.

Leaves and grass crinkled underfoot as two others approached the rendez-vous point. His breath stopped in his throat. Their steps were almost silent, but the undergrowth betrayed them. His eyes finally picked out the two figures, one tall and thin and the other with the proportions of a child. His heart started beating at its normal rate again.

"Tyr Anasazi," the tall figure said in greeting. It was a woman, her voice quavery with age and experience but still strong.

"Matriarch." He bowed his head from a respect ingrained in him since birth. The woman looked thinner than he remembered. His gaze flickered over her and then focused on the smaller figure. A rare smile spread over his face, a reaction even deeper than respect.

The pair reached him, and he squatted on his heels so he was face-to-face with the child. "Tamerlane Anasazi." He held out his well-muscled arm, and the child raised his in the traditional Nietzschean salute. For once in his life, Tyr was at a loss for words. There was a moment of silence. "Do you know who I am?"

The child nodded once. He gazed into dark eyes so like his own before answering. "The Matriarch tells me you are my father." His voice was high, fitting for his age, but his tone was overly formal. "Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa. Kodiak Pride." His child's voice couldn't quite pronounce the r's properly, and Tyr felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

"That's correct. Do you know who you are?"

The boy drew himself up, and Tyr had a vision of the child as an adult. He would be a powerful, beautiful man, he knew. "I am Tamerlane Anasazi, out of Tyr by Freya. I am of no Pride and all Prides. I am the genetic reincarnation of Drago Museveni."

Tyr bowed his head and then stood to address the woman. "You have taught him well, Matriarch. I am in your debt."

The woman's eyes were cool. "You were not a worthy husband, and now we shall see if you are a worthy father. For his sake and for the sake of our people, I hope you prove so." She glanced at the child, and her stern face softened. "I have taught him well, as you say, but he is no child." There was a note of sadness in her voice; Nietzscheans loved their offspring, not as miniature adults but truly as children. This one had been robbed of a childhood the moment he entered the world. "He needs the love of his father or his victory for us will be as bitter as defeat."

Tyr didn't need to reply. He had loved this child from the moment Freya informed him of his existence, and that was a pale prelude to the emotion he felt when he had first laid eyes on him. This child was the realization of his entire life's struggle, and he was worth it many times over.

He led them to his home amid a camp bustling with activity. The residents were clad in tatters and looked a bit too thin to be healthy, but they moved with purpose. A few nodded at Tyr as he made his way to the building at the camp's center. Many threw curious glances at the woman and child by Tyr's side; the child bore a striking resemblance to their leader, but the woman was too old to be his wife, and neither wore a double helix.

The woman was not a proper Matriarch, not anymore, but no Nietzschean would deny Olma that title. That did not mean they would not hunt her down and kill her without a second thought if it served their purpose, but they would address her with respect as even as they fired the final shot. Outsiders might call it honor, but it was closer to instinct.

She scolded Tyr for not having chosen a wife yet. She was sure he had loved Freya, but Tyr had affairs of state to think of, as well as the welfare of his son. This ragtag group looked as if they would follow Tyr through the gates of death, but the rest of their race would find it difficult to respect a man with a single small child and no wives. And the child would benefit from a maternal influence other that her own. She hadn't let herself become very attached to the child out of necessity, and she could see how it had hurt him.

Tyr assumed she would be staying in his home but she refused, preferring to choose a tiny place of her own among those scattered about the camp. She was a Matriarch, after all, independent and strong-willed. She couldn't live under another's roof, even if he was the father of the Progenitor's genetic reincarnation.

"I must say this choice for your base was inspired, Tyr." Her voice was dry. "It is the last place I would have thought to look for you, and I know I am not alone in that sentiment. The Genites are powerful, but they are not particularly creative." Her words held a note of respect. "You are unpredictable, Tyr, if nothing else."

Tyr's lips twisted into something like a smile and he left, leaving the boy in Olma's care. He had a highly encrypted message to consider, one with fascinating implications. No one in his camp had heard of the message's sender, but Tyr maintained a small intelligence network of his own, and he had heard whispers of something like this. He knew that he needed allies, and this potential ally claimed to have incredible firepower at his disposal.

After a few pensive minutes, he sent a reply. He made a mental note to brief his aides on a journey he would make soon. Tyr leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and thought that he might be unpredictable, but the universe was positively schizophrenic.


	4. It's All Coming Together

Dylan gave the courier a handful of the bits of metal that passed for currency in this area. Telemachus saw the exchange out of the corner of his eye but tried to ignore it. It was probably nothing. And even if it wasn't nothing, he had his own tasks which demanded his concentration. He was sifting through reports of Genite activity, some months old and few from reliable sources.

He heard Dylan's heart and respiration speed up as he read the message. He focused his eyes on the flexis and paper strewn in front of him. None of them mentioned a suspicion of revolution stirring on the world of humanity's origin. He was currently reading them for details he could use to their advantage, but that had taken a pressing weight off his mind.

Now it that weight was back, heavy as ever. Why wasn't Dylan saying anything? He thought he might casually turn around in a few moments and notice something in Dylan's hand when the man finally did speak.

"He agreed," he said, in a wondering tone. "I don't believe it."

Rhade set down the flexi he'd been clutching for the past few minutes and not reading at all. He tried to look surprised. "Who agreed? To what, exactly?" As if he didn't know.

Dylan looked up. Telemachus believed the man had spoken to himself and was only now remembering his presence. "That man you mentioned, Tyr Anasazi. He sends his sympathies. He also thinks we're both insane but is willing to meet with us. He doesn't get much amusement here."

Telemachus allowed himself a smile at the captain's expression. "You should be skeptical. But you should also keep an open mind. Nietzscheans work well under pressure, when there's someone to fight."

"And when there's not?"

"Captain, there's always someone to fight, even if he's your brother."

Dylan looked suitably chilled at this. Telemachus didn't know exactly what had taken place aboard the Andromeda Ascendant during those minutes before her deep sleep, but he suspected that the idealistic Dylan Hunt had received some very rude knocks lately.

"But I don't think you should attend this initial meeting."

Dylan glanced up so fast that Rhade thought he must have suffered whiplash. "You just told me..."

"... to keep an open mind. And I stand by that. But if you rush into this, the man will think you a fool. He might kill you and try to take the Andromeda."

Dylan thought about this for a little while and saw a Nietzschean logic in it. "Speaking of the Andromeda, I'm going to go monitor the progress of her repairs. I hope your engineers are as good as they say they are." He paused halfway out the door. "His kid is the Nietzschean messiah?"

Rhade nodded.

Dylan peered closely at the other man and then shook his head. "I will never understand your people, Telemachus."

The admiral gave him a small smile and then returned his attention to his reply to the Kodiak. He would have to handle this with utmost delicacy while appearing to do nothing of the sort. Though he hated to admit it, he found the challenge refreshing and invigorating.

After locating a reliable and discreet courier, he sent the message on its way. A few minutes later, his comm beeped insistently. It was either the Andromeda or... He tapped the screen and brought up a familiar face.

"Admiral?" Dark circles ringed tired eyes, and ash smudged gaunt cheeks. Rhade didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see someone.

"Triumvir. Yes, it's me. The rumors have reached you, then?" Rhade had judged it too dangerous to send any news of his arrival through official channels, so he had spread whispers in taverns and hoped the right people would hear and believe them and the wrong would dismiss them as fantasy.

"They have. I'm sending you a set of coordinates. I hope to see you there tomorrow at twenty-one hundred, local time." The face disappeared.

One of them was alive, one and maybe more. He had stumbled aboard a High Guard ship of the line and recently extended tentative offers of an alliance with one of the few intelligent Nietzscheans alive today. Together, they might yet bend the universe to a more preferable shape.

_A few thousand miles away... _

"Okay. So we're here." Beka examined the read-outs from her console. The Maru had taken the flight and rough landing very well, and she patted the bulkhead thankfully. "Now what?"

"I want to go outside," Trance exclaimed as she bounced near the viewscreen. "It looks so pretty!"

Beka craned her neck and hmphed. It didn't look like much to her. "Got a plan, Harper, now that we're home-sweet-home?"

Harper shook his head. "Hey, this wasn't my idea, guys. And this isn't Boston." He brought up a map and searched for the longitude and latitude the ship was registering. "We're... France. Or Spain." He paused. "Maybe Italy?"

"That means nothing to me, Harper," Beka said impatiently. "What's out here?"

Rev held up a clawed hand. "I believe I can answer that. I'm afraid I have not been entirely forthcoming with you."

Beka and Harper exchanged looks. Nothing good ever followed that kind of statement.

"I have reason to believe that there is a fledging resistance in this area."

"Hold up, Rev. Don't tell me they're resisting the same people who want our collective ass?"

Rev bowed his head. "They are. They are a small group now, but I believe they will prove a force for the Genites to reckon with before long."

Trance gave him an appraising look which he did not acknowledge. "I think it's a good idea, you guys. They can always use another pilot, engineer, linguist, and..."

"Finder of things people want," Beka supplied with a smile. Now, why did she feel like she'd just agreed to something? "Do you have anything specific on 'em, Rev, like where they might be in France or Spain or Italy? Not that I'm agreeing just yet."

"I think I could locate them."

This was shaping up to be one of the strangest days Beka Valentine had ever lived, and she had lived through a lot of weirdness. She threw her hands up. "That's a yes from Trance and Rev. What about you, mudfoot?"

Harper shrugged. "Sounds good. It's not as good as throwing off the chains of Dragan tyranny... and come to think of it, the Genites did accomplish that for us. But it's been too long since I've kicked bigoted ass. I say we go for it. You, boss?"

"Sure. Let's get laughed out of their, um, camp or shot the moment we turn our backs. It'll be better than Genite high-tech torture, at least."

"That's the spirit!"

The Maru was ill-suited to atmospheric flying, but she scooted her way through Earth's ozone without problem and landed a few clicks from Rev's mystery X. Sure enough, they were surrounded by sentries the minute they left the ship.

"Nice to see you still got it, Rev," Beka muttered. "Trance, could you do the honors?"

Strangers tended to react to Trance the best of all of them. Rev was unfailingly polite but unfortunately armed with the fangs and claws of a killer. Harper was unpredictable and suspicious, and Beka was hardly less paranoid. Besides, none of them were sparkly.

"Hi, guys! Um, I'm Trance. This is the Eureka Maru." They weren't lowering their guns just yet. "Well, see, a little while ago we found out that the Genites wanted to arrest us for something we didn't do. I promise! Anyway, Rev," she pointed at the monk, "suggested that we come here because they wouldn't look for it here, and Harper," here she indicated the short blond, "is always going on about how great it is... besides the Nietzscheans and the Magog." She noticed that some of the guards sported bone blades and laughed. "Uh, no offense. The Dragans are the ones he doesn't like."

Harper said something under his breath, and Beka elbowed him.

"So we were wondering if we could join your little rebellion!" Trance finished with a smile.

The guns didn't move.

Beka cleared her throat. "Right. Thanks, Trance. I hate to sound cliché, but if you aren't going to kill us outright, do you think you could take us to your leader?"

A tall man with raven-dark hair stepped through the circle. "Actually, I was just going there myself."


	5. Settling In

Beka couldn't believe that her choices were between a Nietzschean army and a High Guard army. Or more specifically, a High Guard captain, a Tarazed (which she still didn't understand… basically a Commonwealth wanna-be) admiral who were searching for a crew to serve under a Triumvir she hadn't met She imagined the latter would be a little easier to get on with—especially for Harper—but the idea of protocol…. ugh. She wasn't going to salute.

"Well, think of it this way, boss. It's between saluting and calling him captain and saluting, calling him captain, and being reminded of your 'genetic inferiority' every ten minutes. Oh yeah, and the Nietzscheans are a lot more likely to kill you if you mess up or, you know, look at them wrong."

Beka nodded. "All true. Other thoughts?"

Rev bowed his head. "I would not wish to judge either party before I meet them, but I am inclined to agree with Harper. The old Commonwealth spanned galaxies and included beings of many races. I believe an officer of such a government would be more likely to accept our crew than Nietzscheans."

It was all true… but Beka really didn't like the idea of saluting. "Trance?"

The girl made a comical face. "Well, I don't want to judge anyone either, but Nietzscheans call me names. I guess a High Guard captain might, too, though."

"All right, all right." Beka smiled. "That settles it. Only I am allowed to call my crew names. The delusional duo it is."

By the delusional duo, she meant, of course, Admiral Telemachus Rhade—a Nietzschean bent on defending the Commonwealth—and Captain Dylan Hunt—a High Guard captain who had been frozen in time at the edge of a black hole, only to leave the black hole's orbit in a fashion none of them understood. Beka didn't think she would come across anyone more unlikely than Telemachus Rhade, but Dylan had proved her wrong. Dylan should have died centuries ago or been squished into extra-chunky salsa by the black hole, and instead, he was attempting to rebuild his lost Commonwealth. Even an idealist like the captain knew that one of the best ways to build an alliance was to share an enemy, and he had chosen the Genites as that enemy. It was a smart move, no doubt about it, but they were the most dangerous force in the Known Worlds.

"It won't work."

"Captain Valentine, if you're so convinced--"

"Admiral?" Dylan entered a scene that was becoming quite common around here, the admiral and the Maru's captain exchanging heated words in Andromeda obs deck, set up as a war room at present. "May I interrupt?"

Telemachus's eyees flashed, but the fire in them subsided quickly. "Of course, Captain."

He chuckled. "Beka, I understand your concern, but the admiral does have a point. Why are you staying here if you believe we're doomed to failure?"

"Because I don't like the taxes they're levying on the little guy cargo runners?" She sighed. "I told you, I'm here because I don't like the Genites, and the feeling is more than mutual. As soon as I dock at the next drift, my name and my crew's goes out, and we're in interrogation chambers before the end of the day."

"Survival, I get that. I'm sure Admiral Rhade understands it even better." There. Establish common ground.

Slowly, Beka turned to the tall Nietzschean. "Right. Where there's life, there's hope, huh?"

Rhade gave her a thin smile. "That's one of Tyr Anasazi's favorites, but yes, that is what I've been trying to say. You think it won't work? Then give us some ideas, Beka, because the two of us are out of touch with the climate out there."

Beka felt her resentment dim and die. They were right. She still didn't think they had a snowball's chance in hell of successfully throwing off the Genites, but they wouldn't have any chance at all if they didn't try. She was stuck here for better or worse, so she might as well make the best of it.

Harper, she thought with a grin, was certainly making the best of their situation. He had fallen in nerdy engineer love with Dylan's ship, the Andromeda Ascendant: her systems advanced beyond anything he'd ever seen, her enormous firepower potential, and her fully sentient (and pouty-lipped) AI. He spent most of his days deep in the bowels of the ship, oblivious to the tension around him.

Trance and Rev were gone for days at a time on goodwill missions for the tiny villages of humans scattered around the area. Trance had her hands full with malnourished and chronically ill humans as well as new flora she picked up on these trips, and she was delirious with joy. Beka had to admit that the girl didn't have nearly as much occupation on the Maru.

The rest of her crew was settling into this new place nicely, but Beka felt caged. She hated planets, and this one was just as limiting as any she'd seen. More, in fact, since their camp had to escape detection from the stray Magog that still wandered the system and bandits who roamed the area.

She felt caged, and she felt like she was setting herself up for martyrdom. She wasn't relishing any of these feelings and was feeling bored and a little lonely later that night when Harper was working on a Big Secret Project on the Andromeda, and her other two crewmates were administering to the Deserving Poor. Dylan and Rhade were being diplomatic with the Nietzschean camp, and she had elected to stay behind. Now she was wishing she had tagged along after all, as she would have preferred condescending looks and reminders of her genetic inferiority to the greyness that had descended upon her.

So she thought she'd explore a bit. She realized that she had never visited the Nietzschean camp and only vaguely knew where it might be located. Tyr Anasazi always elected to come to them or a middle ground, and he was the only Nietzschean from that camp she'd met.

She fastened the Commonwealth button Dylan had given her to her collar in case she ran across Nietzscheans who might demand to know who she was and proceed to disbelieve anything she said. They were annoying that way, Nietzscheans.

She set off from the Maru in the direction she thought led to the other camp and soon became lost without any trouble. She knew she wouldn't find a convenient road and sign, but this was a little ridiculous. Stubbornly, she closed her eyes and sketched out a rough mental map of the area. The Maru had landed… here, and the Nietzschean camp should be less than a kilometer north of her present location. She opened her eyes and glared in a northerly direction.

She squinted through the dappled forest shadows. She could have sworn she saw something… but no. The forest was still. She continued on her way, glancing to either side of herself and growing increasingly nervous. She HATED planets. Her eyes were straining for some sign of human—or Nietzschean, rather—civilization when something shifted at the edge of her peripheral vision. She jerked her head towards the sudden movement, and a strong pair of hands descended on her, one across her mouth, the other on her right hand that had jumped to her gun.

"Mmrph!"

"Captain Valentine?"

She recognized that voice. If that hulking Nietzschean thought he could manhandle her… She bit down hard on the soft flesh of his palm. It halfway worked; he removed his hand from her face, but then he spun her around to face him, keeping her gun clamped to her hip. "And you're Tyr Anasazi. Don't tell me you've resorted to brigandry already. I know it seems pretty hopeless, but as the admiral so thoughtfully reminded this afternoon--"

"What are you doing out here?"

Her jaw tightened. The delirious duo might annoy her no end at times, but they did her the courtesy of letting her finish her sentences, which was more than she could say for this man. "Scoping the nightlife. You?"

"I'll be happy to exchange pleasantries, ironies, and insults another time, Captain, but for now, I will have a straight answer from you."

She knew he could take her gun and shoot her with it any time he chose if he didn't use whatever he had concealed on his person. "My crew's out, enthralled with the wonders of this world," she said flatly, "and I was bored. I thought I'd make a diplomatic visit to our Nietzschean allies, though I can't really remember why that seemed like a good idea."

Tyr's eyes flickered around the scenery as he replied. "I'm sure I can't imagine why. Fortunately, I believe you, but unfortunately, I can't allow you to make that visit." He nodded his head in the direction Beka had been headed. "You were half a kilometer to the north. You would have walked past the camp and continued walking until a desperate human bandit heard you several kilometers away and decided to rob you." He returned his gaze to her. "Now you're coming with me."

"Let me guess. You're off to a secret rendez-vous at a secret location with a secret ally, and I can't be allowed to go tattling to the rest of your camp."

He let a small smile quirk at the corners of his mouth, and she laughed in relief that he did seem to posses a sense of humor after all. "I'll thank you in advance for not killing me."

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent. He led her through the trees until the sky was black velvet studded with stars. She lost track of time, and her captor/guide firmly discouraged conversation. After an indeterminable length of minutes or hours, Beka spotted a small cabin by the bright moonlight. The pair approached the cabin, and when they were a few feet from the front door, it swung open.

"Matriarch." Tyr inclined his head to the dignified older woman, demonstrating more respect with this simple gesture than Beka had seen him accord Dylan, Gaheris, or any of his Nietzschean cohorts until now.

The woman returned the salutation with a tiny nod. "And who is this… human, Tyr?"

Beka bit her lip to keep from laughing. By the disgusted looks the woman was sending her way, she obviously believed Beka to be some sort of late-night fling in the forest.

"This is Captain Valentine," Tyr said without further explanation. "Is he well?" And with that, he seemed to forget Beka's existence.

The woman smiled, visibly thawed. "He is a wonderful child, very curious. Your guards could hardly keep up with him, but I am more accustomed to children than they. He misses you sorely, but I must admit that your presence is invaluable for him. Perhaps this scheme of yours will prove beneficial after all."

The woman's eyes returned to Beka. "The human knows, then?" Her voice had hardened with this last sentence.

"She knew nothing until now, and I will explain what I must." He favored Beka with a glance that bespoke a clear threat. "She will guard his secret."

"Very well. Shall I wake him?"

Tyr gave her that almost-bow again. "Thank you, Matriarch."

The woman left, and Beka cleared her throat. "Oh-kay. Uh, where to begin?"

He crossed his arms and gazed down at her, dark eyes calculating. "This information you will receive tonight will go no further than the two of us. Captain Hunt and Admiral Rhade will not know, nor will your crew, nor any of my followers whom I have not approved. If you are not one hundred percent clear on this matter, I suggest you find your ship and beg the Genites for mercy. I will show you none."

For once, Beka felt not the least temptation to mock this Nietzschean. "Gotcha." A moment passed. "So what is this secret? A kid?" She attempted a laugh. "The Nietzschean messiah?"

Tyr gave her a long look before answering, and her nervous smile died. "Correct on both accounts. Tamerlane Anasazi is my son out of Freya, and his genetic code is an exact match to that of the Progenitor, Drago Museveni."

He wasn't kidding. As soon as he opened his mouth, she knew he was serious. "Your… son? The prophesied savior of the Nietzschean people?" He nodded. She frowned in thought. "Awfully formal with your wife, aren't you?"

Some of the solemnity dropped from his demeanor. "My wife? No, that woman is the Matriarch of the Orca Pride, my wife's. She is the only of her people who remains alive."

The only… "I'm, uh, sorry for your loss."

Tyr's expression was unreadable. "She died defending her child."

Beka couldn't think of anything to say after that, so they were quiet until the woman returned with a curly-haired boy with the wide eyes all young children have. He looked sleepy until his eyes fell on Tyr, and then his face lit up. He shouted with joy and threw himself into Tyr's waiting embrace. After a full five minutes of laughing and secret conversation did the boy notice Beka's presence. He looked at her curiously. "Who is this lady?"

Beka thought with a smile that this was the only time she could expect to be called 'lady' by a Nietzschean. "Beka Valentine, at your service," she said with an awkward little curtsy. The curtsy wasn't for the 'Nietzschean messiah', she told herself, but he was a really cute kid.

He squirmed in his father's arms. "You're the first human I ever met." His voice held a note of awe, and he scrutinized her closely, as if expected to see a third eye appear in the middle of her forehead.

"She's working with us to get rid of the Genites," Tyr said in his son's ear.

He cocked a curious head at her. "But I thought humans were weaker than us. Why do we need them?"

The question was asked with such innocence that Beka couldn't feel offended. Tyr smiled and answered that the Genites were human, too, and they were very strong. The boy nodded thoughtfully.

"Besides, kid, brawn isn't everything. Take me, for instance. You won't find a better pilot in any species of the Known Worlds." She grinned and was charmed when the boy replied with a shy smile of his own.

"Did you know that the Genites killed my mother?"

Beka nodded. "Yeah and I'm sorry. I don't like them much either. Anyone who commits genocide needs to be straightened up, in my book."

"Ge-no-cide. That means… killing a lot of people," the boy said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Yeah. Wow, you're the smartest… how old are you?"

"Three."

"Smartest three year-old I've ever met."

He beamed and entered into animated conversation with his father, which Beka didn't try to follow. She was fatigued from her jaunt through the forest and looked longingly around her for a place where she might sit. Tyr noticed and announced that they should go inside. Beka sat in the first chair she saw and spied the Matriarch in an adjoining room, looking strangely domestic with a pair of knitting needles. Her tired mind refused to concentrate on the scene around her and drifted.


	6. Official Business and a Party Crasher

No one spoke much, savoring the comfortable thrum of the engines underfoot and th predictable flashed and whirs of the Maru at work. It was nice, flying without the sound of weapons fire behind them, without the urgency of a smuggled run or fervent prayers that a warrant ahead of them had expired.

Any other time, she would have set her controls on auto-pilot for such a short, mundane run, but she thought that soon, she might start missing short and mundane. Somehow, she had joined a rebellion, and they tended to be of the epic struggle sort, unless they were the brief, violent type, and she would much prefer epic, as she had more of a chance of surviving that one. Beka Valentine had known very little boredom throughout her life, and it didn't look like she would strike up an acquaintance with the sentiment anytime soon.

It was a shock to hear Dylan's voice echo through the cockpit. "Eureka Maru, you are clear to dock."

She blinked. "Oh, thanks. See you in a few."

The Maru landed in a hiss of steam, tiny and ramshackle in the smooth, soaring bays of Andromeda's hangar. It made her feel like a part of something bigger, and it wasn't a comfortable feeling. She had always been one or part of a small team, an equal, a necessary cog in her own survival. But here, hundreds of hands and miles of ship would hold shares of her life, and she held a bit of theirs.

Before she had settled herself, she found herself and her crew in the Andromeda's command center, surrounded by men and women in impeccable uniforms… and one Tyr Anasazi, looking decidedly out of place amid this military precision. Nietzschean and human alike, they all had excellent posture. She looked around herself to see that Harper had disappeared. "Hey Dylan, do you know where my engineer ran off? I'd hate for him to miss this historic moment."

He shrugged. "He says he has a surprise. I thought you would know." He looked down at a small computer unit on his wrist and grimaced. "Andromeda is a stickler for punctuality."

A hologram shimmered into being beside Beka. "I think it will be worth the wait, Captain. Mr. Harper should be finished any minute now."

Just as the hologram disappeared, a quick step sounded through a nearby corridor, and a door whooshed open. "I didn't miss the ceremony, did I?"

No one was paying attention. Behind him, a young woman walked slowly, unsurely. Delicate hands smoothed a crisp uniform over a small frame, and an uncertain smile hovered at the edge of a full mouth.

"Andromeda?"

"Captain Hunt. Please, call me Rommie. It will prevent confusion with my other selves." She looked up through long eyelashes.

Beka looked over at Telemachus and saw disbelief cross his features. She bit her lips and tried not to giggle aloud. These two duty-mad officers were struck dumb by a pretty girl—an android, true, but you wouldn't know it to look at her. She didn't know what the old Commonwealth thought about captain/ship liaisons, but she thought it might suddenly became very relevant, judging by the shy looks Dylan and Andro… Rommie were exchanging.

She coughed. "Guys? Historic, ground-breaking ceremony?"

Dylan started. "Right. Right. Are you ready?"

"Been ready for a while now."

"Rommie?"

"Aye."

Dylan straightened himself and fished a flexi out of his pocket. He cleared his throat. "Have you had a chance to look over the terms of this document, Captain?"

She rolled her eyes. Cargo runners never talked like this. "I read it until my eyes crossed."

Dylan turned to Tyr, who had a disturbing ability to disappear entirely from one's consciousness despite his size. Beka almost jumped at noticing him so close.

"And you, Mr. Anasazi?"

"I could recite it from memory if you'd like."

"Good." He handed the flexi to Admiral Rhade.

The Nietzschean squared his shoulders. "Triumvir Marelena Taraches of the Systems Commonwealth—represented here by Admiral Telemachus Rhade—Captain Rebecca Valentine of the Eureka Maru, and First Regent Tyr Anasazi of the Nietzschean alliance have deemed it necessary to take into consideration the means of establishing an engagement of alliance and of rendering it useful to the safety and tranquility of the three parties.

"The respective parties have resolved to join their counsels and efforts against the enterprises of their common enemy, the Knights of Genetic Purity, and towards this intention they have, after the most mature deliberation, concluded and determined a formal treaty of alliance. The articles of the treaty shall be heretofore published in accordance with the Public Information Act of Systems Commonwealth except as they may pertain to matters of top security."

Beka had read a copy of this speech a few days ago and had needed the Andromeda to act as translator for her. Triumvir Taraches, Captain Valentine, and First Regent Anasazi had sat down one day over drinks and decided they should do something about those Genite bastards annoying the hell out of them and the rest of the Known Worlds. After months of threats, blackmail (okay, maybe not so much blackmail), and compromise, they had hammered out terms of alliance that none of them were completely happy with, but what could you do? Oh, and the Commonwealth had to publish it so the common folk wouldn't get too suspicious of the brass hats.

Rhade slipped a stylus from a pocket and signed the flexi, then passed it to Beka. She pretended to read it for a few moments before signing with a flourish. It wasn't everyday she signed one of these, after all. She passed it to Tyr and wondered suddenly how he felt about being named and signing last. As far as she recalled, Beka had been Johnny-come-lately to this party and should have been listed last. How had that not come up during their discussions?

She remembered what had stood out during the discussions: Tyr's choice of title for himself. Dylan and Telemachus had demanded to know why he was styling himself regent and for whom, but Tyr had refused to divulge that information. Beka didn't care if Dylan and Telemachus knew that she knew something; it had been bad enough to sit there and squirm while they glared holes in each other. Maybe that was why he'd been shoved to third place.

She wondered if his Nietzschean buddies would get on him for that, or if Nietzscheans were above caring about naming order. After their shocking display of solidarity in rallying behind Anasazi, she could almost believe it.

After the treaty had been circulated and signed, Telemachus took it and let a flicker of a smile cross his face. "Should any additional parties wish to enter into this alliance, the Systems Commonwealth especially extends an offer of alliance to all peoples against the tyranny of the Knights of Genetic Purity."

Beka rolled her eyes again. Should she voice a similar sentiment on behalf the Eureka Maru? No, she'd definitely screw that up. She kept her mouth shut and waited for this damn thing to be over so people would start speaking normally again.

"This treaty has entered into effect upon the signature of the three parties concerned. The precise time shall be noted in official records. Finally, the respective parties have agreed upon the ship known as Andromeda Ascendant, Shining Path to Truth and Knowledge as the flagship for this new alliance, with the permission of her Artificial Intelligence and Captain."

Dylan took the flexi and, after a moment's hesitation, passed it to Rommie. Her lips quirked in a startled smile, but she signed quickly and passed it back to her captain, who followed suit. The flexi found its way back to Telemachus, who nodded firmly and declared the alliance official. A silent beat passed.

"How was that for your first official duty, Rommie?" Of course Dylan would be the one to break the silence.

"But sir, this was hardly my first official function. We have engaged in hundreds of similar actions…" Her words died away. "Oh, you were talking to me." She stopped, confused and muttered something about pronouns. "To be honest, sir, I wasn't sure what name I should have used to sign the treaty."

Dylan chuckled. "I think that's our sign to break out the champagne."

A private or lieutenant or whatever she was appeared out of the crowd with a bottle and several more followed with crystal champagne flutes. One passed out the flutes and another, the champagne. Beka covered her glass when the bubbly drink was distributed and asked quietly for water. The young officer turned red and hurried off. She had to admit that it was a refreshing change from the guffawing laughter and outright disbelief she usually got when she refused alcohol. She thought she should get a tattoo or something to avoid these situations in the future.

The crew was finally starting to loosen up—all of them refugees from Tarazed, on a real High Guard ship for the first time in their lives and awestruck despite (or because of?) their training—when Andromeda relayed something to Dylan via his sub-vocal communicator. Beka saw him press a hand to his neck and murmur something, which she assumed to be some kind of silent transmission—that, or the captain was starting to crack.

He caught her eyes and jerked his head, indicating that she should follow. She noticed Telemachus follow suit, though he was much more subtle about the sub-vee communication than Dylan. Tyr looked at them curiously, and after a moment of obvious indecision, Telemachus nodded to him. Rommie broke off conversation with a young private (or lieutenant?) and joined them. They walked silently into an adjoining corridor, and when Beka thought it was safe, asked what was going on.

"We have uninvited guests," Rommie explained. Her voice was tight. "The Archduke and Archduchess of the combined Sabra-Jaguar Pride."

Beka made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "Nietzscheans?" She turned to Tyr. "No offense, Anasazi, because I know we're all on the same side here, but would it have been so difficult for ol' Pete Museveni to give Drago some manners?"

He ignored her. "I've gathered widely disparate reports of Charlemagne and Elsbett Bolivar. For a long while I believed Charlemagne a useless fop, a man who indulged in decadence and luxury to the point of ridicule. A few years ago, the two Prides arranged their marriage, and it was known in a very few circles that the First Daughter meant to kill her Jaguar groom on the wedding day. Most people dismissed it as rumor or believed that Elsbett would succeed and continue the war that had raged for years between the two Prides.

"They were both mistaken, and I'll admit this once that I had misjudged the situation. The wedding proceeded smoothly, and Charlemagne lived to the morning. I've tried to gather information as to how he survived the assassination attempt, and it seems that no one is privy to this knowledge, save the Archduke and Archduchess."

They had nearly arrived at the hangar where the Nietzschean ship had landed. "I'll be brief, Admiral, Captain. Do not underestimate this man. Do not take him on his word but don't dismiss him out of hand either."

Beka swallowed. Great. Another smart Nietzschean. Why couldn't they be dealing with the notoriously dense Drago-Kazov rank-and-file? They were something of a joke throughout the Known Worlds, and the little interaction Beka had experienced with them confirmed the jokes.

A door slid open, and there stood a tall, slender man with blond hair that had a strangely plastic sheen. Guards flanked him, but Beka saw no Archduchess. This Charlemagne was slimmer than either Telemachus or Tyr, but he was an attractive man in his own right. Why did Nietzscheans have the hottest men and the bizarre sex complexes?

She tried to look official, but it was hard under those roving eyes. If she didn't know better, she would swear he was checking her out and thoroughly. She wanted to burst out laughing and bit down on her inner lip.

"I hope you accept my wife's apologies, my good sirs… and madam. She is pregnant with our first child, a bonny boy with his mother's fire." He paused. "Honestly, this isn't the welcome I had envisioned. Are you this cold with all your allies, or is it just me? Either way," he said firmly, "it isn't a good way to go about making friends." To Beka's ears, he sounded amused and not at all angry, which was yet another surprise.

"Welcome? I'm afraid you weren't on our guest list," Dylan replied.

"Not on…?" Charlemagne gave an exaggerated sigh. "My aide-de-camp's fault, no doubt. I'll make sure he's properly shot." He rolled his eyes. "But that's no reason we should get off on the wrong foot, is it? Come, tell me all about this rebellion you're planning. I didn't believe the rumors until I heard that it was the Commonwealth which would be rising up against the Genites, and that's too ridiculous not to be true."

Dylan and Telemachus exchanged guarded looks. "That is a matter we should perhaps discuss at a later time," Telemachus finally replied. "Would you care to join us in the Observation Deck for the celebration of the signature of our treaty of alliance?" Telemachus was a soldier by trade, but as an admiral, he had to negotiate the murky waters of politics. "Forgive our abruptness, Archduke. I am Admiral Telemachus Rhade of the High Guard." He raised an arm, bent at the elbow, and Charlemagne returned the Nietzschean greeting.

Dylan looked awkward as he extended a hand. "Captain Dylan Hunt. Welcome aboard the Andromeda Ascendant." Rommie gave a short nod in the Archduke's direction, arms crossed and lips pursued.

Charlemagne took the initiative when it came Tyr's turn to introduce him. "You must be the notorious Tyr Anasazi of the Kodiak Pride." He extended an arm.

Tyr replied in kind. "First Regent, if we're resting on titles, Archduke."

Charlemagne gave him a quizzical smile but chose to ignore this oddity for the moment. "And this is the much-renowned Captain Valentine." His words conveyed nothing but respect, but his eyes were another matter. She thought he could tell her size to a nanometer by now.

"I see you're the highly-exaggerating Archduke Bolivar," she said with a laugh.

"Not at all." His voice was almost serious. "You've become quite an item of interest, my good Captain, among the more powerful Nietzschean prides… or what's left of them."

She snorted, but before she could reply, Dylan shot her a look and took over the conversation. With a shrug, she fell in behind and watched with great interest the flow of words and expressions between the human, android, and three Nietzscheans.

The walk back to Command lasted only a few minutes. Dylan invited Charlemagne to partake in the hospitality of his ship, but for her part, Rommie looked rather less than friendly. Beka heard Dylan order increased security around the new arrivals and saw Rommie smile tightly.

She had begun to drift back to her crew when a voice called her name over her shoulder. She turned and saw, to her great surprise, Charlemagne himself, bent low at the waist. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

She registered the shocked looks of her neighbors as she accepted. He straightened and offered his elbow, which she took tentatively. She leaned in. "I can't dance to save my life, Archduke, not to this." Slow notes from a full symphony floated through the Observation Deck.

He chuckled. "Then I shall make sure no one else discovers this flaw, Captain. Doubtless you've heard of the Jaguar proclivity for subterfuge."

They stayed near the walls and corners until Beka felt comfortable enough to venture out among the rest of the couples. Their conversation flowed without awkwardness, and Charlemagne showed no desire to spread his evening talking politics with the Commonwealth representatives. Beka commented on this with a laugh.

"It is so difficult for you to believe that I would rather pass the time with a lovely woman than with those stiff soldiers?" She smiled. 'Besides, in case you forgot, you are one of the founding signatories of this alliance, in theory equal with a Triumvir in that regard."

A circulating officer offered Charlemagne a flute of champagne, and behind the first officer, another dashed forward with a similar glass of water for Beka. The pair clinked glasses without a spoken toast. As her first sip of water slid down her throat, Beka heard a familiar voice near her asking if he could cut in. She wondered if a diplomatic incident was near at hand.

Telemachus Rhade stood at her side, eyes tight as he watched the archduke lift Beka's hand and kiss it before relinquishing her. She took a long sip from her glass, and when looked back down, the admiral had replaced the archduke as her dance partner. "I just learned this tonight," she warned, "so don't kick me out of the Holy Alliance if I step on your feet."

His return smile failed to convince Beka that he had heard a word she'd just said. She saw his nose wrinkle and wonder, blushing, if he was _smelling_ Charlemagne on her. He danced well, but the archduke had correctly described him as 'stiff'.

"Is this the part where you debrief me after my contact with the unknown bogey?"

His eyes ceased their scanning of the room to glance at her. His hard features softened a little. "Do I need to debrief you, Captain?"

She shrugged. "It's possible that he gathered top secret information by his Nietzschean assessment of my body language as we discussed the relative merits of Artika and the Blind Emperors, but it's too late to do anything about that now." He stared. "They're rock groups, Telemachus. A little culture never hurt anyone, you know.

"Aside from my weakness for a certain indie folk group, Charlemagne didn't weasel anything classified out of me." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think I'm liable to crack and spill your darkest secrets after a few waltzes?"

He shook his head. "No, and I apologize if that was my impression. We're very surprised to see him, as you must have noticed, and anything that might help explain his presence here would be extremely welcome."

Her irritation subsided, and he let her go after the next song finished. She was making her careful way through the twirling couples and praying that she didn't trip over any of them when she received her third request for a dance that night. It was Tyr this time, probably searching for intelligence like Telemachus.

"What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

He smiled. "Our esteemed admiral debriefed you, did he? I assure you that is not my intention."

Tyr was a natural dancer, smoother than Telemachus and a firmer leader than Charlemagne. She tilted her head to one side. "Then what are you intentions, First Regent?"

"Advice. I don't doubt your ability to survive in the world you know, Captain, but you're entering a different world now. Entire planets and systems hang in the balance, and I've seen people stronger and smarter than you become lost in the mires."

They spun. Beka was sure she'd be an object of prime gossip tomorrow, waltzing with archdukes, admirals, and first regents alike. She realized with a jolt of her heart that she didn't know who would be spreading the gossip and who would be listening. "The world of politics, huh? Thanks for the thought, but what do you care about my survival in this big, bad, brave new world?"

He laughed. "Very astute, Captain. Very astute."


	7. A Simple Request

A/N: Hey, kids! I know, I know, I'm terrible about updating even worse than I am at updating in general. Here's two chapters for your pains and patience. This one's really short, though. Read, enjoy, and review!

…..

Beka knew she shouldn't, but she was gloating madly when the Andromeda Ascendant received official recognition from the Knights of Genetic Purity, which consisted of a warrant signed by the Patriarch himself and the most hotly-worded death threat she'd ever seen. And Beka Valentine had, one way or another, seen a lot of death threats. "We're officially one of the big dogs, Telemachus," she said when the admiral seemed rather less joyous than her over the news. "We'll be the talk of the Known Worlds before supper. You wanted support for your cause… okay, so you'll be getting a lot of crazies and more death threats, but you'll also get a lot more people willing to throw their lots in with you now."

"Just remember we were here first," Harper put in.

Telemachus kept his own counsel as he relayed the news to Tyr Anasazi, who had relocated to a different ship soon after the signatory ceremony. The First Regent didn't like the idea of serving on an ally's flagship, and Beka couldn't blame him. Hell, she would rather be in the Maru, despite the fresh coffee and clean linens available daily on the Andromeda, but she knew that passing Genites would fire her little ship out of the sky the first chance they got. It would take more than a passing Genite to take out the Andromeda, though she would rather not find out how many it would take.

Dylan had had an especially hard time wrapping his mind around the superiority of Genite technology. Oddly, the Andromeda herself took the news easier than her captain. For Dylan, the Andromeda Ascendant had represented the pinnacle of High Guard technology, and hadn't he been hearing that civilization had fallen hard since the Long Night? For Andromeda herself, technology was almost a living entity that would never stop evolving as long as someone had dreams and delusions of grandeur. She was still in the top hundredth of a percent of the most powerful warships in existence; only a very few Genite crafts could best her, and it would be a bloody, destructive battle on both sides.

A few days later, Tyr sent his congratulations and an invitation for Beka to join him for a day or two on his flagship, a cunning ship of a new Sabra-Jaguar design (which she knew annoyed him) called _Ego_. No one on the Andromeda expressed more surprise than Beka herself, but neither could anyone think of a good reason for her to refuse. He was hardly planning to kidnap or kill her; the last thing Tyr Anasazi could want right now was a splintering of fledgling alliance. Everyone knew the Andromeda was its most powerful weapon right now, and Tyr was clear-sighted, if nothing else.

The prospect of spending any amount of time around Nietzscheans made Beka a little nervous, and she hoped whatever business he had with her would be concluded quickly. Not one to mince words, she told him exactly that when he met her in _Ego_'s hangar.

She was carrying a single bag, black with grey straps across her shoulders. He met her alone and, typical male Nietzschean, didn't offer to help her with her bags. "What, no helpful 'bots to attend my every whim? Tell me again, why did I agree to come here? And don't tell me it was for the pleasure of your company. I can think of three things I would rather do than spend a day in all-Nietzschean surroundings, and they all involve death or Flash."

He smiled. "No 'bots, I'm afraid. _Ego_ is rather more utilitarian than the Andromeda, though I can hardly imagine you have anything similar on the Maru." He eyed her ship askance.

"Hey! No smart-alec comments about my baby, or I'm out of here." She shifted her bag. "So why am I here? And why am I not staying aboard the Maru during my little vacation?"

"Perhaps we had best discuss the details of your stay elsewhere. My quarters should suffice."

Beka, quite mystified by this point, followed her host's lead, trying to glare minimally at her Nietzschean allies. It was clear that they were expecting her but that they weren't sure why they were expecting her. No one quite whispered kludge at her, but some of them were aching to the moment their leader's back was turned. Beka wanted to laugh.

They arrived at Tyr's quarters, spacious but Spartan. She glanced curiously at an easel set up in one corner and strained her eyes to peek at the canvas. She thought she might give her eyeteeth—a phrase that didn't make much sense when she thought about it—to see what sort of artistic endeavors Tyr spent his time on when taking a break from universal domination. She was sure it was landscapes.

She dropped her bag and made herself comfortable on his bed—or attempted to. Tyr didn't go for feather mattresses, and she ended up half-sitting, half-lounging. He leaned against a wall, and for a moment, silence reigned. Her host proceeded to tap the side of his neck and mutter something. Apparently he'd admired the High Guard sub-vocal communicators so much that he'd had one installed himself. He nodded and faced his guest. "We are as secure as possible for this vessel. I have a very serious request to make of you, Captain."

She swallowed and shifted nervously. She'd had no idea why Tyr could want to see her alone—well, one thing did come to mind immediately, but she didn't think he would jeopardize his position as First Regent by dallying with a human woman—but she thought she might know now. There was one secret of his she held, and she was sure he'd do anything to protect it. "It's the, um, the little guy, isn't it?"

He looked mildly surprised and nodded. "It is. You may refuse, and if you feel uncertain of your ability to carry out my request, I strongly suggest that you do so. I won't take your failure well."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Tyr. Spit it out already."

"My son is currently aboard a small medical vessel in my fleet, but the Matriarch and I both desire him to be removed to a less conspicuous location where the Genites will not think to look for him. We have a planet picked out, and no one outside the three of us knows about this. I would like you to deliver the boy and the Matriarch to the specified location where they will live in much greater safety than I can offer them here. Of course, you will be richly compensated."

Beka cursed silently. He had worked this out well in advance, and he knew just how to manipulate her. While Beka wasn't exactly the mothering type, he had guessed that she would have a hard time abandoning his young son to his fate in the hands of the Genites, and he had worded his request to imply that she would be doing just that if she refused. Plus, it was hard to resist 'rich compensation' from Tyr Anasazi. She doubted it would come in the form of currency, which was always handy but not something Nietzscheans possessed in great supply. He was talking about something even more important and more nebulous: his protection and his aid as she waded through the politics of rebellion. She even thought she could trust him to a surprising extent to keep his word.

She tried to make her voice casual. "And what, there aren't any Nietzscheans around you slick enough to pull this off?"

"No." He held her gaze steadily, and she found a faint flush rising in her cheeks at the compliment buried somewhere in that simple word. No Nietzscheans, but Beka Valentine was a different story. Well, shucks, whoever said flattery wouldn't get you everywhere?

"Theoretically, Tyr, how would I explain my absence to Telemachus and company, not to mention my crew. Harper and I have been working together the longest of any of 'em, but Trance and Rev will be also be suspicious if I go haring off by myself. And I assume you _do_ want me to do this on my own?"

He nodded. "You assume correctly. As for your story, I have a few possibilities in mind. However, I see no reason in indulging your curiosity unless you accept my offer."

"Can you at least tell me where I'd be taking 'em on this field trip?"

"The mission is strictly need-to-know. As you haven't yet accepted the mission, there's nothing further you need to know."

She sighed. "I thought you were the one asking the favor, here. Fine, I'll do it. You could hardly have doubted it."

Now that she had accepted his mission, she saw that he hesitated. Typical man, wanting one thing and changing his mind the next. She had the feeling that Tyr didn't hesitate often, so it must be something particularly grave. "I hope you realize what this will entail, Captain. If you succeed—and I have little doubt you will—you will hold extremely valuable knowledge which you may sell at any moment to the Genites or any other interested party. I assure you that you could find several before dinner. While I do not suspect that you are the sort to engage in casual treachery, I am not so confident of your loyalty to trust that you would keep this information secret under extreme duress."

He didn't need to elaborate. She was under his eye now, once and for all. "Right. We're tied till death do us part but without the side benefits." Ha ha, Valentine, good one. She was well aware that her wit was especially atrocious when she was nervous, almost as bad as Harper sometimes.

He looked surprised at her light dismissal and a bit annoyed. Well, he could deal. She was saving his kid's life at great risk to her own, and Tyr was the kind of man who could do with some tweaking now and again.


	8. The Wrong Kind of Action

Here's a loooong bit for your enjoyment! You might want to get a drink and popcorn; you may be here awhile:)

………..

There was trouble before the mission even started, and in Beka's experience, that never bode well. It seemed like everyone on the Andromeda had tried one way or another to persuade her to refuse the secret someone's secret request. She couldn't walk from her quarters to Command without Junior Officer Tarazed stopping her for an update on the growing strength of the Genites, not-so-subtle warnings under the guise of strategic updates. It was amusing at first, but every time it happened now, she came a little closer to screaming. The good admiral had threatened to court-martial her, of all the notions, when she reminded him that not only did she not belong to his Commonwealth but that she possessed the status of a an independent political entity with her signature of the treaty of alliance. He had scowled and muttered something about upstart civilians.

And then there was her crew and the unending guilt trip, intentional or otherwise, they laid on her the minute she announced that she was leaving for unspecified erasons of her own. Trance had actually managed to weasel out that it was something to do with the Nietzschean Alliance, and Beka outright avoided her for fear she would discover the rest before the girl promised not to ask her about it anymore. Harper was incredulous that she would risk her life for Übers.

Their efforts reached a fever pitch the day before she was to leave, and she had begun to seriously worry that Harper might try to sabotage the Maru. She decided to call a meeting of her little crew aboard her ship. They took up their usual places in the mess: Harper at the table chugging a Sparky; Trance attending a small potted plain the corner; Rev standing quietly against a wall, vaguely uncomfortable as always in the mess. Only Beka was out of place, pacing from one wall to another, coffee in hand.

"Beka, are you sure you're feeling all right? I can make you a tea that will calm you down, if you want," Trance offered from a corner.

Beka shook her head. "No thanks. I have some things to do before… tomorrow."

Harper finished a Sparky with a loud sigh and popped open another. "I know. Why don't you take Trance's tea, get some rest, and give those Übers the finger?"

"Harper!" Trance admonished.

"That's why I called you guys here," Beka said before Harper could reply. "I want you all to know why I'm doing this, even if I can't tell you what it is I'm doing."

Rev's gravelly voice sounded from the shadows. "You don't need to justify yourself to us, Beka. We trust that your heart is in the right place, as always."

"Yeah but a little back-up never hurt. Listen, Beka, we promise to keep our mouths shut and do everything you tell us if you smuggle us aboard this top-secret flight tomorrow."

Beka shook her head. "We've gone over this. It isn't that I don't trust you, but I have to go in alone on this one."

"All right, all right, then spill."

Beka fiddled with her mug for a few moments as she sorted her thoughts. "Okay, it's like this. Yes, I am doing this for the Nietzschean Alliance, but most of them don't have any idea what's going on. It's… there's this kid, cutest thing you ever saw. And you know how the Genites are, they'd kill him in a second if they found out who he was and where. If the ship ever falls into Genite hands, he'd be dead. No, he'd be worse than dead because they'll find out who he is."

"Don't keep us in suspense, boss. Who is this kid?"

"Uh, can't tell you that. But come on, he's three years old. And he has a surprisingly good role model… plus he'll grow up knowing he owes his life to a kludge, so he might no turn out so intolerable after all. Believe me, this is really important, and I hope one day you'll get to find out why."

Rev bowed his head. "Thank you, Beka. We will guard your confidence." His eyes shot towards Harper.

"What? I can keep a secret."

"See that you do. Well, that's it, kids. Now get out of here and tell Telemachus to stop worrying so much."

Her crew filed out and just as she left, Trance shot Beka a warm smile that filled her with a confidence she had lacked until now.

She went to sleep early and surprised herself but falling asleep immediately. After spending so much time aboard the Andromeda, she had almost forgotten how much she loved her quarters on the Maru. This morning, she was sure she had awakened before even Captain Terrific himself, and sure enough, Andromeda reported him asleep when Beka asked her permission to leave. Telemachus was awake, however, and gave her one last stern lecture before finally ordering Andromeda to open her hangar doors. Beka had to grin; as XO on the Andromeda Ascendant, only the captain's direct order could have held her aboard, not because of Commonwealth regulations but rather those of the FTA. She had earned the title 'Captain' from the FTA and figured that she should respect their shipboard protocol whenever possible.

She made a brief slip to a rundown drift where a small package awaited her. Back in the cockpit, she examined it carefully and connected it to a nearby console. It was a very expensive and high-tech piece of equipment, and she wasn't sure how her old Maru would react to it. Nothing exploded, so she slipped to the empty area of space where much of the fleet of the Nietzschean Alliance was stationed, practicing maneuvers and gathering intel. For this thing to work, she couldn't turn on her active sensors, so she had to hope Tyr's diagram was perfectly accurate.

There was a lone ship near the edge of the huddle, a freighter that had seen better days. It was exactly why the diagram said it would be, and Beka had no trouble guiding the Maru into the hangar, which had opened a minute after she left slipstreamShe felt a light thump underfoot that announced her landing and tried to quell her paranoia as the hangar doors slid closed behind her. Just as scheduled, a young boy and an older woman awaited her when she got out. The boy's face lit up, but the woman looked rather less impressed to see her.

"Were you spotted?" the Matriarch asked by way of greeting.

"Hello and how you are you, too," she muttered. "No, the cloak was fully functional, and no one shot at me. I guess Tyr's engineers—or someone's—know what they're about. Are you two ready?"

"I'm ready, Beka!" the boy exclaimed. The older woman nodded.

"Then welcome to my humble abode." Beka ushered them in and showed them the mess, head, and crew quarters. Olma declared herself fatigued and opted to stay in her quarters while Tamerlane tagged along with Beka.

She hesitated before leaving the woman alone. "I would appreciate it if you waited until we're out of sensor range of your army to start sending secret messages." Olma pursued her lips and looked affronted, whether at the suspicion or insult to her intelligence Beka didn't know.

"I'm afraid there's not much to see here, kid," Beka said, turning to Tamerlane. "I'm going to be piloting for awhile, so you can, uh, stay with me or stay with the Matriarch." He didn't seem fazed and insisted on following her.

She carried on a running commentary of the Maru as they walked to the cockpit. She strapped herself into the pilot's chair and advised Tamerlane to hold on to something—but not to touch any of the buttons or levers.

"I know, Beka. I've flown before," he answered with all the scorn that a three year-old can muster.

She grinned and lifted off. So far, so good. She flew in normal space until they were well beyond Nietzschean sensor range and then opened a slip portal. The first jump was an easy one, so she was able to glance back and see Tamerlane gazing in awe at the bright colors and silver threads that surrounded them. Clearly he hadn't flown much.

If they'd had more time, she would have loved to teach the kid to slip on his own. But their schedule was tight, and Tyr would kill her if he learned of an unplanned excursion.

Between jumps, and during the easier ones, they talked. Beka found Tamerlane a pleasure to converse with, as he was obviously eager for attention but polite, due to the Matriarch's doubtless strict upbringing. When Beka thought about it, it struck her as terribly sad that this little boy had and would continue to have such an isolated and un-childlike childhood simply because of the patterns of his DNA. He barely saw anyone else—let alone children his own age—as he was a closely-guarded secret. Tyr loved him very much, Beka knew, but he was an extremely busy man, and he couldn't spend much time with his son lest the wrong person discover the boy's existence. And as for Olma… thorough a teacher though she might be, the woman didn't seem very motherly. Then again, Beka admitted to herself that she wouldn't know a good mother if one came up and tapped her on the arm.

"So Tamerlane, seeing as how you're my guest, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

The boy considered this a moment, evidently surprised by the question. "Why is your ship so dirty?" he asked finally. His tone was so devoid of the disgust she was used to that she couldn't help but laugh.

"That's character, not 'dirt'. The Eureka Maru is older than I am, and he's saved my… skin more times than I can count." She looked around. "I guess he could use a scrubbing, though."

"Why do you call your ship a 'he'? I thought ships were usually girls. And why do people call them girls anyway?"

"Um, let me think about that one. The tradition of female ships goes back to the age of boats—you know, things that float on the water—when they were the only way to travel on huge expanses of water called oceans."

"Before humans invented starships?"

Beka nodded. "I'm not too good with Earth culture, sorry. Harper could fill you in on that, maybe… no, you don't know him. Anyway, I guess I call the Maru a 'he' the same way most men call their ships 'she'. Sort of a balance thing: ship and captain, yin and yang, halves of a whole."

"Ohhh."

"Do you know what 'yin and yang' means?"

"Yes."

Of course. Nietzschean kids could disembowel a man at, what, age five? "Anything else you wanna know?"

"Can I try to fly the Maru?"

Beka laughed and regretted it when she saw Tamerlane's face fall. "Oh, hey, I wasn't laughing at you, kid. Actually, I was just thinking the same thing. Great minds, huh? I don't think your dad or the Matriarch would let me see my next birthday if I took an unscheduled detour." She thought hard for a moment and brought the ship out of slipstream. "We need to return a certain something to Kaliz Djakstan Drift. You see that white dot in the distance? That's Kaliz Djakstan." She prayed that Olma wouldn't choose this moment to check on her ward.

"All right, come here and sit on my lap."

The kid's eyes almost popped out of his head, and he scrambled to join Beka in the pilot's seat. She explained the controls he was to use, and he began hesitantly, growing more confident as the Maru responded to him. Beka corrected his flight path a time or two, and really, there wasn't much for the kid to do. She remembered the kick she always got out of being allowed to sit on her father's lap, even when she wasn't doing anything. She gently took back the controls as they made their approach but let Tamerlane stay where he was. He was practically glowing, and Beka felt something stir inside.

They docked without mishap. Beka ordered Tamerlane to stay on the Maru and make sure Olma did the same. He took this duty very seriously. It took her less than a quarter of an hour for Beka to give the cloak to its designated handler and return. She found Tamerlane standing in the entrance to the crew quarters as stiff as any High Guard private at this post. Without thinking, Beka said that he would have made a good little Lancer. Her eyes widened when she realized the full import of her words, but the kid only grinned at her. _Smooth Beka, tell the Nietzschean messiah he should have been High Guard._

Olma joined them in the cockpit later that night and declared that it was Tamerlane's bedtime. He complied and dashed away. Beka thought incredulously that he actually seemed excited at the prospect of sleeping the crew quarters. After the boy disappeared, Olma suggested that Beka might want to get some rest herself. The words were civil enough, but something in the tone turned it into a superior conferring a favor upon a weakling.

"Thanks, but I feel fine. And with all due respect, it's unlikely that I'm going to leave the Maru in your capable hands. The plan is the slip to a little orbital habitat I know and dock there for the night."

"Absolutely unacceptable."

Beka forced her hands to stillness on her controls. "I thought you might say that, security concerns and all. Fine, but I still don't trust you at the Maru's helm."

"Then you may instruct your ship to follow orders solely from its captain and alert you at the first sign of sabotage." That irritating quality of a favor bestowed had returned.

"What, you think I didn't think of that before you two showed up?" She threw her hands up and unbuckled herself. "All right. Next thing I know you'll bring up Tamerlane's safety, and I'll be a monster if I put the kid in jeopardy. You can sit here… and you can read passive sensor input and public portions of the Maru's database, and that's all. I come back and see so much as a screwdriver in your hand, there'll be hell to pay."

"As you say."

Beka made a disgusted noise in her throat and left, distinctly uneasy. She had changed into the tank top and boxers that served as pajamas when she decided on a whim to forsake her semi-private captain's quarters for the crew bunks. Naturally, the kid wouldn't admit to being scared, but Beka knew how creaky and mysterious the Maru could be at night. After a whispered exchange with her cargo, Beka fell asleep as quickly as she had the night before.

Tamerlane was still sleeping when Beka got up, but he awoke just as she was easing her way out the door. "Morning."

"Good morning, Beka. Can I fly with you again today?"

"I don't think so. Today I'll be spending a lot of time in slipstream on some little-used routes I've never even heard of. But you're welcome to sit in the cockpit, and if we need to stop a drift on the way, you're my go-to guy." Beka left the room smiling at Tamerlane's delighted expression.

Olma was approaching from the other end of the corridor, and Beka wondered if she'd overheard. "I think you will find your ship operating to your satisfaction, Captain," the woman said, not awaiting a reply as she passed Beka and entered the crew quarters. She heard voices drift from the sleeping area and hoped the kid had enough sense to keep his mouth shut about their little arrangement.

Tamerlane joined Beka in the cockpit after she'd eaten, showered, and dressed. After she asked if he'd had breakfast, he replied in the affirmative and added that he'd never had a muffin before. Beka shook her head. In some ways, Tyr's son reminded her of Harper when she'd first picked him off Earth.

When he asked her to explain slipstream, Beka suggested that he look it up in the Maru's database. He didn't answer, and she realized that he probably didn't know how to operate the Maru's consoles. As she verbally walked him through the process of accessing the database, it occurred to her that he might not even know how to read. She couldn't remember when human kids starting reading and had no idea about Nietzschean kids. Presumably they would start earlier… maybe it wasn't so impossible that a three-year old Nietzschean could read.

"Hey kid, you might want to start somewhere simpler. I think my dad had some beginner science texts in the Maru's database somewhere. Uh, that is if you can read."

He sounded surprise when he answered. "I can read." His voice dropped to a confiding whisper. "Sometimes that's what we do for hours, the Matriarch and I, read the news flexis she gets. It's how I know about the Genites and gen… genocide. She helps me a lot, but I'm getting better."

Beka nodded. Poor kid, stuck reading depressing tales of Genite tyranny instead of Dick and Jane and Spot. Really, no three year-old should know the word 'genocide', let alone know how to spell it. After Tamerlane's attention was diverted to the Maru's junior science texts, the slips became difficult, and the cockpit was quiet except for its usual whirs and beeps.

Beka took a break about midday—which in space just meant the next time after breakfast when you got hungry—and invited Tamerlane to the mess with her. He looked reluctant to leave his science lessons until she mentioned that she had filled up on muffins just before she'd left the Andromeda. Immediately she wondered if she should have said that last bit but shrugged it off. He was the big secret here, not her.

"The Andromeda? That's the… the head ship for the New Commonwealth, isn't it?"

"The flagship, yeah. I'm the First Officer, believe it or not," she finished dryly.

"Then does that make you High Guard?"

Beka almost choked on her sandwich. "Not exactly. I'm more… FTA adjunct Captain Valentine."

"Adjunct?"

"Adjunct. It means, um, attachment. See, the FTA—the Free Trade Alliance—doesn't really like the Genites because terror is bad for business. Peace and prosperity go together, and the Known Worlds are seriously lacking in both. So when word got the brass hats at the FTA that I had hopped on Tel—on Admiral Rhade's revolutionary bandwagon, they sent me a… secret message telling me that they applauded my efforts to rid the Known Worlds of tyranny, blah blah blah. Of course, they can't actually badmouth the Genites in public, but they held ultra top-secret talks with one of the Triumvirs—the heads of the New Commonwealth—and somehow, I wind up unofficial adjunct."

"Wow."

"I know. That's politics for ya. How's the muffin?"

"Good."

Beka slipped until evening (the next onset of hunger) and continued late into the night (the onset of sleepiness). Tamerlane had disappeared a few hours ago, probably to eat something before bed, and Olma replaced him in the cockpit, silent as ever. While Beka wasn't normally one to be disconcerted by a little quiet, the woman was creeping her out. From sheer desperation, she began to speak. "Kid in bed?"

"Tamerlane is sleeping, yes."

"He was devouring some junior science stuff my dad left in the database. Are all Nietzschean kids reading about the physics of the slipstream at the age of three?"

"Generally no. Or, they could, but most Nietzschean Prides have other ways of filling their children's days."

"Ah. Well, I don't know how much of it he actually got, but he seemed to be enjoying himself."

Beka had noticed that Olma's frosty exterior tended to melt a little when she talked about Tamerlane. Yes, the woman's voice was definitely a half-degree warmer when she replied. "Tamerlane is a very curious child, and I'm afraid I can't provide him with all the mental stimulation he desires. Nor is he as physically developed as his peers. Most Nietzschean children are playing quite roughly with others their age by now and beginning to learn the basics of the martial arts."

"What, you can tell that when he's three?"

A touch of pride entered Olma's voice. "I am a Matriarch, Captain. Despite what you may believe, _that_ is the highest title of a Nietzschean Pride, not Alpha. Tyr would not entrust his child to anyone less."

Olma's sudden bout of talkativeness amazed Beka, but she kept her tone casual. "I can believe that. I mean, about Tyr. I didn't know Matriarchs were so important… um, no offense."

"That is because you don't understand Nietzscheans, Captain. Myself, I will never comprehend the human mating customs, wherein the female beautifies herself to attract the male's attention. Among most dual-sex species that reproduce sexually—sentient and otherwise—it is the male who attempts to catch the eye of a female. Females are the center of life, Captain. There are only two times in his life when a Nietzschean male is completely relaxed, in the womb and in his wife's arms."

_One of his wives' arms,_ Beka thought. "Huh, good to know. But why don't I ever hear about Matriarch so-and-so declaring war or, I don't know, accomplishing other newsworthy feats?"

A pause. Then, "War is the only the means by which men attract at woman's eye, in the end. I decide whether he may mate with that woman."

Ah-ha. Now Beka had something intelligent to say. "So, what, you're telling me that Tyr, for example, is leading this great alliance to pick up chicks?"

A startled laugh burst from Olma. "No, I don't think so. He is working for the survival of his people and the betterment of their future. That comes down to much the same… just on a rather larger scale."

"Conceded. And he did need a chick to get Tamerlane in the first place. If it's not too weird of me to ask, what was she like, Tamerlane's mother?"

"Freya was a warrior and a highly intelligent woman. She loved her son and she… valued Tyr when few of her Pride agreed with her decision to keep his child. She was a worthy mother for the Nietzschean messiah." Olma's voice had hardened again. "I believe you should rest, Captain, if you are to be at your best tomorrow."

Without argument, Beka got up and left. As she had done the night before, she changed in her own quarters and then slipped into the crew bunks. Tamerlane managed a sleepy hello before falling back into slumber, and Beka soon followed his example.

Beka got an early start the next morning, and they arrived at their destination around lunch time. Olma insisted they scan the system about a hundred times before landing, and for once, Beka agreed whole-heartedly. She found a small, fairly prosperous civilization on the planet, habited by humans and human variants, which Olma seemed to expect.

The Matriarch stiffly thanked Beka for her trouble and asked that she leave as soon as she dropped them off at the tiny spacedock, refusing Beka's offer to accompany them until they found a safe place to stay. Tamerlane shocked both women by hugging Beka tightly when she knelt to say her good-byes. He didn't cry, but his eyes looked shinier than usual when Beka truthfully told him that she hoped she would see hi magain soon but couldn't promise anything. Olma seemed to know where she was going, for she left the Maru walking quickly in a straight line, not stopping to ask for directions. Tamerlane glanced back at Beka several times, and she stayed on the Marus' ramp until the pair was lost to her sight amid the crowd at the small hangar.

The Maru felt too quiet when Beka went back inside and settled herself in the cockpit. She scrubbed her eyes and muttered that he was a Nietzschean and probably a brat most of the time, that they would all be lucky if he didn't grow up enslaving Harper's cousins. It didn't help. She wondered what Tyr would say if she admitted to having fallen in love with his son after less than three days in his company.

Maybe what followed happened because of her unusually thoughtful mood, distracting her attention from her sensors, or maybe the Genites were really just that good. Whatever the case, Beka was jolted out of her reverie a few minutes after entering slipstream by a shot that barely missed her starboard engines. The Maru warned her just in time for her to execute a tight drop and roll she liked to call defense pattern 'leave me the hell alone!' that tended to confuse targeting systems.

At first, she was relieved to see that she had a single ship on her six and swore when she saw its Genite design. Nothing fancy, thank the Divine, but much better adapted to combat than her Maru. Damn. She prayed that the Genite was picking on her because of her outstanding warrant, not on suspicion of harboring the genetic reincarnation of Drago Museveni. But all things considered, she didn't think she'd stay to chat and find out.

"All right, Beka, time to show the nice Genite that all his fancy targeting tech. doesn't add up to squat against a Valentine in the 'stream."

She had been planning on taking the quickest route back to Andromeda's position, but she changed her mind mid-stream. That alone was enough to shake up most pilots, and she gained some time on her pursuer who couldn't know her end destination—she hoped—but could tell when her course radically shifted from the regularly-used route they had been traversing. Her ship didn't appreciate the sudden change either, as the stream became considerably rougher when one went off-roading like this. In layman's terms, she was making it up as she went along.

Despite the situation, she found herself enjoying the ride, imagining how the first slip-pilots must have felt. She felt certain that she'd make the right choices here, as organics tend to do. The Genite was gaining ground again, and Beka decided to drop into normal space for awhile to get her bearings and sneeze—she had a terrible urge to sneeze, and doing so while piloting slipstream had always proved bad news for her.

She came out in a populated system, to her relief. She didn't recognize the coordinates the Maru spat out, but the ships she saw rang a bell: mostly Perseid research vessels and a few Than escorts. While neither had signed on to the Commonwealth bandwagon, officials from both species had offered carefully-worded support. They wouldn't intervene on her behalf right now, but their presence might make a lone Genite think twice.

As her pursuer pondered the moral and political ramifications of shooting her, she opened another slip portal. She ordered the Maru to bring up random coordinates and slipped to the first—or as near as she could in a single jump—then changed courses for the next. The Genite would have a hard time following her to her ultimate end if she didn't know it herself. In spite of her precautions, the Genite continued to gain on her, and he landed a shot too near her engines, port this time. The Maru brought up a set of coordinates on the edge of the Known Worlds, possibly beyond their official border (however that was determined). She hesitated for a moment; she might be safer in a populated system, but then again, she ran the risk of falling into the lap of a Genite task force.

Luckily, the Commonwealth had seen fit to equip the Maru with some defenses she could use in normal space if she still couldn't shake this guy. Middle of nowhere it was. The defenses were pretty basic and might not do much good against a Genite craft, but her odds were much better against one, she decided.

The slip was a long one, rough and slippery beyond belief. The Genite ship must have been taking the punishment better than hers, but now the other pilot was clearly losing his edge. He couldn't hold on much longer, she saw with glee but then, neither could the Maru. She reached her destination and dropped out of the slipstream, readying everything she had at her hands. The Genite burst out a few seconds later, and Beka threw what little firepower she had at the sleek vessel. It sustained minor damage—more than she'd expected but not nearly enough—and then the Maru's klaxons became deafening. She was target-locked.

And then the Genite turned tail and ran. Beka stared in disbelief as a slip portal bloomed brilliant in the night. She knew she hadn't scared the Genite off and was almost afraid to see what had. Her sensors didn't pick up anything right away, but something on long-term caught her eye. Something that shouldn't have been there, a gravity disturbance that wasn't on the Maru's admittedly sketchy charts of the area. She focused all the sensor power on the object, event, or whatever it was.

They couldn't get a clear picture of it, but the information they did relay shocked Beka to her core. It was a small star, and it was part of a huge, artificially-constructed structure. Worst of all, it was moving, very slowly but surely in the direction of the Known Worlds. She'd never heard of anything like it, and her pilot's gut told her something was very wrong here.

No, that wasn't the worst, she saw. That particular title was reserved for the tiny, fast-approaching blip on her screen. A ship. An ugly, clawed thing with a central puncturing mechanism that had always looked vaguely obscene to Beka. A Magog ship. She didn't bother to query the Maru's database for the quickest destination from here available by slip-route. She opened a portal and got the hell outta Dodge.


	9. If It's Not One Thing

Author's Note: OMGWTFABBQ!ELEVENTY-ONE!

I just posted a new story here at after the longest time (sorry folks, it's Harry Potter, but I think I have another Andromeda fic y'all haven't seen yet, unless you frequent ExIsle), and I was flipping through my stories to make sure they were all listed as complete, when I realized that this one wasn't! I hate it when authors leave stories unattended for months on end, and I'm very sorry to have done this to my readers. This is going to be updated VERY quickly for you good folks, and I'll post my most recent Andromeda fic soon.

And hey, if you're into Harry Potter, I have one short Snape/Narcissa (one-sided) story, and a Lucius/Hermione story I'm just starting. But no pressure.

ON TO…

Chapter Nine:

Now that a couple of days had passed since her horrifying near-collision with the Thing – they would take to calling it the 'Worldship', but it would always be the monstrous Thing beyond words in Beka's mind – she could watch the face of her shipmates and even smile a little at their bewildered expressions. She noticed that Trance's surprise looked a little put-upon, as if she were as terrified as the rest but already resigned to it. Odd. She'd guessed for a long time now that Trance had joined her crew for larger, mysterious reasons, and she wondered if the Thing were one of those reasons.

"What the hell is it, Rommie?" Harper finally asked, breaking the silence.

Rommie glared at the screen, at the Thing that glowed there and her own inability to understand it. "I can't answer your question as well as I'd like. It's an artificial construct, powered by the star you see in the center. It seems to be surrounded by planets… hollowed-out worlds. From what I could distinguish from the Maru's sensor data and Beka's description, I would venture that the worlds are full of Magog. My calculations put the number in the trillions… I don't suppose you want the exact figure."

Dylan looked a little green. "No, thank you, Rommie."

"And you still won't tell us what led you to this miraculous discovery, Captain Valentine?"

She turned away from the viewscreen to glare at Telemachus, vaguely grateful for an excuse to tear her eyes away from the Thing. "I already have, Admiral Rhade. It's not my fault you don't believe me, despite my sensor data."

"-which can be forged. And your answers have been remarkably vague. You were fleeing from a Genite fighter, but you won't say how if found you or what you were doing or where you were doing it when it did so."

"Hey, a Valentine does not go back on her word. I promised to do this favor and keep it a secret. As for the rest, what else do you need to know? Hell, I could find it again if someone were holding a gun to my head."

Dylan held up a hand to forestall the argument that would likely commence about now. Beka recognized the gesture after the long hours she'd spent bickering with Telemachus back in the early days of this adventure. She took a deep breath and resolutely turned back to the screen and felt her stomach clench.

"Can you tell if it's moving?"

The image of the Thing disappeared, and in its place Andromeda displayed a star chart with a dotted line through the middle. "It is, Captain. As large as it is – and probably not slipstream capable-"

"I hope," Beka murmured.

"-it is moving quite slowly." She brought up a set of Vedran figures in the corner of the map. "I was able to extrapolate this estimate from the Maru."

"Woah, woah, woah, something here is not right," Harper said suddenly. "If I'm reading this correctly – and I'm pretty sure I am – this... Worldship is less than a year out from the Known Worlds. How is it possible that no one has heard of this?"

"I have a theory on that question, Mr. Harper." Rev's growl was somber and tinged with sadness. "I believe that someone, or a particular group of someones, may indeed know about this monstrosity. Dylan, you said it yourself when you first proposed the renewal of the Systems Commonwealth and the resistance against the Knights of Genetic Purity. What is the best way to rally people to a cause?"

"Produce a common enemy," came the captain's immediate reply. "But surely you're not saying that the Commonwealth..."

"Not the Commonwealth. You already have your common enemy."

"The Genites."

"Yes but who is their common enemy? While Nietzscheans are a popular target – I mean no offense, Admiral – it is no secret that all modified humans will soon be the next Genite targets, and I would like to believe that there are too many sentients who hold that genocide is an evil no matter who it is perpetrated upon for the Genites to succeed. However, there is one enemy who could frighten nearly every species in the Known Worlds to the safety of Genite tyranny. My people."

Harper muttered a particularly strong mudfoot invective, and Beka swung her head around to regard her crewmate in surprise. "Kid, you okay?" She hadn't called him 'kid' for a long time, but then, she hadn't heard him speak like that for a long time either.

"I'll just bet Dylan's right. Those racist bastards got a lot of support at first from the slave planets like Earth, driving off the Nietzschans with their tails between their legs. But guess what, Earth's saviors didn't stay around long to defend her when the Magog honed in. Earth was weak and, for once, completely defenseless. It's hell living under Dragan jackboots, but at least it's living."

Beka put an arm around Harper's shoulder, and Trance murmured quiet words of comfort. The rest of the assembled party looked shocked at Harper's brief soliloquy and ashamed for their shock.

"I think Harper may be on to something," Trance said when she looked up from Harper. "The Magog resurgence among former slave worlds has cost the Genites a lot of friends. If they can show people this threat and promise to protect them, well, people would suddenly stop asking a lot of questions about right and wrong."

"People who would give up liberty for security deserve neither," Rev commented from his corner.

A faint smile crossed Dylan's face. "Ancient Earth; scientist and statesman Benjamin Franklin."

"You know your Terran heritage."

"Not as much as I'd like. Frankly, most of it comes from handy quotations like that."

Now it was Beka's turn to interrupt. "Hey, guys, this is really fascinating, but I think we may have larger problem at hand than the holes in our collective education." She coughed, and her cough sounded distinctly like 'Magog'.

"Dylan, there's something else." Rommie's eyes were shut as she spoke, as if she were very deep in concentration. "I can't access it, but I know I know something important about the Magog. I wouldn't have remembered it at all, but the sight of that Worldship... whatever it is that it triggered, it's gone now."

"Harper?"

"I'll get on it. If it's extra-ultra-top-secret classified, I'll be asking for some codes from you, Dylan. Not that I couldn't hack past anything you military types could think up, but I don't think Andromeda'd like me ripping through her security networks."

Rommie winced at the imagery.

A few hours later, Harper and two Tarazed engineers found themselves in Andromeda's matrix, admiring the complexity and efficiency of the AI. Harper had been training the two young officers in the intricacies of VR matrices, for which they'd read every manual ever produced by the Commonwealth but had never experience before their posting on the Andromeda. Apparently, dataports had never been the fashion on Tarazed.

"Tell me if I'm going to fast for you guys. Now, this we can see is the Andromeda's first security checkpoint." He manipulated the string of code with ease. "Luckily, Dylan agreed to let us in on his Lexic dark whatever clearing but only on the condition that he gives it directly to Andromeda."

"What, you mean he didn't trust the Harper with his highest authorization code?" one of the technicians laughed.

Harper shrugged and grinned. "Now you can see a door opening up and voilà! Lexic dark should get us as far as we need."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"Andromeda will kill me for saying this, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Harper, you really wouldn't want me to suddenly lose your supply of Sparky out the nearest airlock, would you?" Andromeda's voice boomed all around them.

"Told ya. But like I said, shouldn't be a problem." Harper continued his rambling monologue as he and his two assistants – he would never stop loving the sound of that – searched for the memory Rommie had mentioned earlier. He couldn't bring up anything relevant on the Magog, so he widened his search, looking for any hidden files that might hold the answer.

And he found it. "What the...?" He stared at what appeared to be a window with a slumbering silhouette of Andromeda behind it. "Andromeda, what am I looking at?"

"Unknown. Whatever you're seeing must be classified about all my clearances." Then why would she have it, he wondered. "Hey guys, check this out!"

The other two still had a little trouble moving through the VR matrix, though they were becoming quite adept at manipulating it otherwise. Harper had never been one to wait for a second opinion – where he was from, indecision killed – so he plunged ahead before his companions arrived. The security around this thing was incredible. His codes, even Dylan's, failed, so he resorted to the tricks he'd learned after years of hacking all sorts of security systems, many of them based on Commonwealth-style encryptions. His holo-fingers danced over 1s and 0s like a pianist's over ivory keys, and finally he felt himself getting somewhere.

"Andromeda?"

She didn't reply. He was beyond her reach now. His assistants were trying to reach him, he realized after a moment, but he couldn't stop to hold their hands right now. He broke through the final wall of data, and there she was, the silent figure he'd seen.

"Um, Andromeda?"

Eyes flew open. "Identify yourself."

"It's me, Harper. Seamus 'the love god' Zelazny Harper. Genius and charming rascal extraordinaire."

"You are not authorized to be here. Leave or you will be forcibly expelled."

"What, hey, I'm sorry I had to break through your security, but Dylan-"

"Intruder alert!" Klaxons sounded around him, and he worked furiously trying to silence them. But not fast enough. This pissed-off Andromeda was in control.

The next thing he knew, he was back in body and feeling an agonizing pain at his neck. She had kicked him out! Beside him, the two Tarazed youth were removing their VR helmets. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

"You must have activated a dormant copy of Andromeda's personality, an older one that she didn't know about."

Harper groaned. "Older so she doesn't recognize me. Does she at least remember Dylan?"

An angry call through Andromeda's ship-wide channel answered his question. "Okay, so what do we do?"

One of the officers explained that Andromeda hadn't kicked them out, that they'd followed Harper out when the alarms began to sound. Apparently, she recognized their Tarazed clearance codes, of all things, and they'd convinced her that they were searching for Harper, who had hijacked the ship with his friends.

"So what are you doing here?" Harper demanded when the young man had finished. "Go back in there and fix her."

"Harper, we know the theory behind AIs and VR matrices, not the practice. We can barely open a door without you."

Harper gave an exaggerated sigh. It was hard being a super genius. "Guys, you know the principles, and you know a couple of those tricks I taught you. Just stay cool, and you'll be fine. I-"

"Intruder!" Andromeda's voice interrupted him. "You are to report to the brig immediately. If you will not cooperate, you will be escorted by force." Two 'bots, armed with forcelances, entered from the nearest corridor. "Lieutenants, what you are you doing conversing with this criminal?"

"We were trying to find out what he did while he was inside your VR matrix, ma'am."

"My sensors detect no damage."

"With all due respect, it's no wonder they don't. Your sensors didn't see him come in or break through your security networks either."

"All right, lieutenants, you may resume your work. You, to the brig." And in case there was any doubt as to whom she was addressing, the 'bots stepped forward and seized his upper arms in twin painful grips.

"Ow, ow, leggo! Look, I'm cooperating." The 'bots dragged his to V-deck, where the non-Tarazed crewmembers sat, guarded by several more Marias. The crew started shouting as one when they saw Harper, and he had to wait several minutes for the din to die down so he could explain what had happened. "...but don't worry, the other two are still inside."

Beka stared at him. "You mean we're putting our fate in the hands of those two kids?"

"Hey, come on, they're not that bad," Harper protested. "Just a little inexperienced."

"I hope your faith is not misplaced, Mr. Harper," Dylan said from one corner.

"Yeah, me too."

Hours passed. The Tarazed-born of the crew were presumably too busy trying to maintain Andromeda to check in on them. Eventually, yelling at Harper got old, and Trance's nervous suggestion that they play a game was met with silence. They felt the ship jump into slipstream for a long time, drop out, and slip again.

Beka made a face. "Whoever's flying this thing is either really new at this or really nervous."

No one answered her.

A couple of minutes after they stopped for good, Telemachus strode into the brig, to everyone's joy. Before they could say a word, though, he gestured sharply for them to be quiet. "My engineers are close to returning the ship to her original condition," he said in a hard voice. "They've found out what your man was looking for in the Andromeda's matrix. Rest assured, you will face Commonwealth justice for what you have done." With that, he strode out again.

"Um, that was a good thing, right?" Beka asked.

Dylan nodded. "For some reason, Andromeda acknowledged the Tarazed crew's old codes and not mine. According to Harper, the lieutenants convinced Andromeda that we were trying to steal her and that they were trying to stop us. The Admiral was just playing into that, but it sounds like he's optimistic that the whole thing will be resolved shortly."

Beka raised an eyebrow. "That's Telemachus optimistic?"

Before Dylan could reply, the lights returned to normal, and Rommie entered the brig.

"Harper, what the hell did you do to me?"

That was really the million dollar question of the day, it seemed. "You recognize me!"

"Of course I do. For awhile there, however, I didn't recognize me." She hauled him to his feet. "I'll repeat my question. What the hell did you do to me?"

He was spared a detailed explanation of hacking his way through her systems as his two assistants came racing into V-deck.

"We found it!" one exclaimed. He stopped when he fully took in the scene in front of him. "Or I can wait."

Harper wriggled out of Rommie's grasp. "Nice job restoring order, guys. What happened? And what did you find?"

"What happened," Rommie cut in, "was that somehow you activated an old copy of my no one by the Empress must have known was there. She completely took over command and locked me out. She insisted that the crew help her with a mission I'd never heard of, and she wouldn't explain. So we got here, but whatever she was looking for is gone."

The excited lieutenant could no longer contain himself. "Gone but not lost. We found what sparked your memory, Rommie, when the other Andromeda took over. It was locked in your archives, and we came across it when we were trying to shut her down. Actually, I was... snooping around while Armantide was trying to fix you."

Rommie rolled her eyes. "Harper, you are not allowed the corrupt any more of my engineers."

"I copied it onto a disc," the lieutenant continued. He held up a small, shiny memory disc. "We'd better watch this right away."


	10. Breaking and remaking

"What is it now?" Beka had entered Command to see Dylan looking unusually grim and Telemachus simultaneously annoyed and determined. Annoyed at whom and determined to do what?

Rommie, quickly becoming an integral part of the Command crew, answered when it was obvious that neither her captain nor the admiral wanted to talk about it. "It's Tyr. Somehow-"

"I'd give my blades to find out how," Telemachus muttered, slipping into rare slang.

"…Somehow, he found out about my… temporary loss of control and left a very inflammatory message before disappearing with his top generals." She quieted and gave Beka a long, searching look the latter was at a loss to explain.

She blinked. "Disappeared? Um, then who's in charge of the mass of will-to-power mad Nietzcheans just around the bend? Do we know if he's informed the Charlemagne?" And why was Rommie staring at her so intently?

"As to the latter, we don't think so, and as to the former, that's what I'd like to know," Telemachus replied, grimacing. "While the captain and Andromeda try to discover where he's gone, I believe a more immediate concern lies with the Nietzschean fleet, apparently leaderless for the time being." He flicked his eyes over her with the same curiosity – and was that suspicion? – she had noticed from Rommie.

"Okay, before anyone else looks at me like I've turned green or sprouted an extra head, can someone please tell me what Tyr's little huff has to do with me?"

Dylan exchanged glances with Rommie and Telemachus before clearing his throat. "He left a message encrypted to open to your vocal command and yours only."

"Oh. Well, in that case, open sesame."

Tyr's familiar features were hard and his voice cold from Andromeda's main viewscreen. "Captain Valentine, upon learning of such astounding incompetence from an ally, I generally drop the partnership and disavow all knowledge of such. Most importantly, my associates soon learn that I am not in a state to tolerate mediocrity. However, if the afore-mentioned ally should continue to search for me and tell me a sufficiently interesting story, I'm careful to consider all angles of a situation before acting rashly. Anyone do determined is advised to begin a search with third parties acquainted with both the ally and myself."

He couldn't mean the nothing planet she'd dropped his son off at with the Matriarch; that would be far too dangerous for everyone involved. Then who?

Telemachus frowned. "How good of him to decide to give us another chance. He will come running back to us when he learns of the approaching Magog horde."

"If we ever find the chance to tell him," Dylan added unhelpfully. "He's still part of the alliance until he formally renounces it, so we can't cut him out just yet." Judging by his tone, he would be happy to do just that if regulations allowed. "Beka, do you have any idea what 'third party' he's talking about? Could it have anything to do with your, ah, trip recently?"

"I doubt it. If I think of anything, I'll let you know."

At three a.m., she did think of something. It did have to do with her "trip", and she was stupid for not having thought of it earlier. She shed the tank top and boxers she slept in and threw on clothes she barely noticed. Her mind was racing.

"Beka?" Andromeda's hologram materialized in front of her.

A muffled 'rmph' was her reply as a startled Beka, pulling on a shirt, got stuck halfway. Soon, her head popped through the correct opening, blond hair all askew.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Just had a revelation. Gonna have to ask you for permission to disembark and no, can't tell ya where I'm going. That cool?"

"Does this mysterious destination concern Tyr's message?"

"Check and check. Whaddya say?"

"Dylan ordered me to give you any help I could, so I suppose this counts."

Beka looked around her quarters, satisfied that she had everything she needed with her or on the Maru. "Thanks. I'll try to bring back good new this time." She hurried through Andromeda's corridors and barely avoided running into Admiral Rhade, who was looking thoughtful before she burst around the corner.

"Captain, going for a midnight jog?" he asked mildly.

"You could say that. A midnight jog, followed by a midnight flight and, if I'm lucky, a midnight rendez-vous with a certain co-signatory of your treaty."

His eyebrows rose. "I see. I suppose it would be a waste of breath to ask where you're going."

"You got it."

He nodded. "Your efforts to maintain our alliance are admirable." She wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

A moment of silence passed, Beka impatient to be on her way. "Okay, if there's nothing else, I'm outta here." She had started to leave mid-sentence, but Telemachus reached out a hand and lay it firmly on her forearm. She tried to not to sigh. "What is it?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. When he spoke, it was simply to tell her to be careful. Then he turned and left in the opposite direction.

"Damn complicated Nietzcheans," she muttered as she dashed to her ship. Who knew what they were ever thinking anyway? They made deadly enemies and decidedly uncomfortable allies.

She slipped for several hours straight before dropping out of slipstream at her destination. When she landed, she realized how tired she was and found her annoyance with Tyr growing steadily. It took her nearly an hour to hunt down the small business operated by the man who'd relieved her of the cloak, as she could hardly tell people she was looking for a guy who held secret packages for Nietzscheans.

It turned out that the man owned a posh little café that looked out on a stunning nebula, the sort of place Beka could afford if she saved up for a year and lived on bread and water, and only if it was a really good year. Unfortunately, she was informed, the owner was not in. She yawned, thanked the server, and returned to her ship to catch some sleep.

A few hours later, the Maru awoke her with an alert that someone was trying to break in. Beka rolled out of bed onto her feet, gun near the bed soon in her hand. Heart pounding, she padded to the airlock. Whoever was out there was good; she barely head a sound where most burglars would be raising a racket to raise the dead. She powered up her gun, flipped a switch, ducked behind a corner, and prepared to fire.

"It would be a monumental waste of your valuable time, Captain, if you came all this way to find me and proceeded to shoot me, in which case I would be much less amenable to a reconsidering of my severance with you and your alliance."

The bastard had the nerve to sound amused at the situation. She emerged from the airlock glaring. "You'd be more convincing if you weren't trying to break into my ship. What, are your people never taught to knock?"

He almost smiled. "Depending on the Pride, we're taught to break it down with a battering ram or enter through a window."

"And you're a window man."

"If I had truly wished to break and enter, I would be inside your ship at the moment."

Beka scoffed. "Not likely. One of these days we'll have to make us a little wager. That is, if First Regents are permitted to gamble with lowly kludge allies."

"The status of that alliance is pending." He leaned against the hatch. "And so we come to the purpose of this visit."

"You noticed my clever segue, I see. All right, well, there isn't much to say. We promise it won't happen again."

He shook his head. "Not good enough. I have no reason to believe that you won't lose control of your ship again during combat or another crucial moment."

Time to bring out the big guns. "Fine, let me put it this way. You have three choices as I see it, Tyr. You can hook back up with Captain Valentine and her Commonwealth friends, ally yourself with the Genites, or find yourself all alone when about a trillion Magog come eating their way through the Known Worlds in less than a year."

Tyr looked rather less than impressed. "Yet you've kept this valuable information to yourselves for… how long?"

"Well you know, we planned to have a big party on the Andromeda and throw it at you and Charlemagne when you were as well-fed and as relaxed as you can be, but you spoiled all that. Andromeda was really looking forward to breaking out the good silver, too."

"Any proof of this Armageddon fantasy of yours?"

"On the Andromeda, sensor data up to your eyeballs and an interesting memory archive. Oh, and a witness who saw the Thing first-hand and only managed to survive to tell about it due to her cool head and amazing piloting skills and."

But Tyr would not be convinced. As Telemachus had pointed out, data like that could be faked. What was more, he might be walking into an ambush if he stepped foot aboard the Andromeda, she imagined he must be thinking. Not even veiled reference to the service she had recently performed for him could persuade him that she was telling the truth.

So that was why they were both in the Maru's cockpit now, Beka's heart lodged somewhere in her throat. Tyr Anasazi and his fleet had better be worth it, she repeated both aloud an internally. He assured her he was.

She retraced her route, more afraid of what awaited them than of not finding her way. "Okay, so the Genite's still on my tail, and I'm getting worried. Do I try to outrace him in slipstream or do I try out the Maru's new toys in normal space? The other guy's getting tired of this made up as I go slipstream route, but so is the Maru." There it was, the turn-off. She couldn't say how she recognized it, but recognize it she did.

"So I decide to turn around and face the guy." She dropped out of slipstream. "But whaddya know, the guy takes one look at this place and bolts like all the demons of hell are on his ass. Can you guess why?"

Tyr had stationed himself at a sensor console, reading the data that the Maru picked up from its surroundings. He found something strange but claimed he didn't have enough information to determine what it was and asked her to move closer."

This was were Beka put her foot down. "Oh no, buddy, this is the end of the ride. You're going to have to wait till we get back to the Andromeda and compare what you did get with the stuff we have on board. There's no way in hell – and it's not looking too far away right now – I'm getting any closer."

"Very well. After we return to my ship, I'll consider your offer."

"You really are too good to us lowly mortals, Tyr."

They returned to the drift without incident and went their separate ways. When Beka landed back on Andromeda, she refused to answer any questions before a shower and a nap. Dylan and Telemachus tried to wait patiently and delayed their barrage of questions until the moment she entered Command.

She had just started her story when Andromeda interrupted with a communication from Tyr. "Speak of the devil," Beka murmured.

"Captain Hunt, your first officer informs me that you have sensor data and a memory archive I may be interested in viewing, assuming I believe them to be genuine."

Dylan shot Beka a sharp look. "How generous of her. Perhaps said first officer should be reminded that certain sensitive matters are to stay classified until we decide how to proceed on them."

Onscreen, Tyr burst into a shocking laugh. "Captain Valentine's memory may have failed her in this instance, but she understands Nietzscheans better than you. Empty assurances are nowhere as convincing as concrete threats to survival. Out of the two cases she made, I believe you can deduce which brought me here."

Beka couldn't help looking a little smug as Dylan granted Tyr permission to come aboard.

As to the mysterious memory disc, that was actually a cliffhanger I hadn't intended to set up at all. It's the copy of Andromeda's first mission to stop the Magog, which was what triggered her memory in the previous chapter. Blood and guts galore, plus unrefutable proof that the Worldship is moving steadily towards the Known Worlds.


	11. Dinner and a Show

The argument had worked on Tyr, and if it had convinced an eminently self-interested Nietzschean, it should have convinced others. What was more, they were on the side of Good, or at least the side of Better than the Genites and the Magog. But all their arguments got them was a load of shame-faced apologies from leaders of one world after another, admitting that while they _liked_ them better, their chances of survival against the coming horror looked better with the Genites.

That wasn't to say that nobody signed onto their treaty of alliance in the storm that followed the release to the public of Andromeda's information regarding the upcoming Magog invasion. A surprising number of humans and human variants clamored to jump on the Commonwealth bandwagon, though perhaps understandable when one took into consideration Genite policy towards modified humans.

In the midst of the heightening tension, Beka couldn't help her amusement at the horror with which the Nietzscheans regarded their newest allies. If nothing else, Castalian incompetence might send the Magog into fatal bouts of laughter. During an especially frustrating training exercise, Beka said wryly to Tyr, "It's too bad you-know-who isn't here to witness this close cooperation between humans and Nietzscheans. I'm sure it would have an extremely positive impact on his formation for his unique career." This was communicated on a private channel, so Tyr spared her warnings to guard her words to glare at her darkly.

"If you have nothing productive to add, Captain Valentine, might I suggest we return our attention to the task in front of us? Your esteemed Admiral will doubtless be annoyed if the Castalians manage to miss every one of the enemy targets and finish by losing half their ships in the crossfire."

She laughed. "Fine. And Tyr, if one of your boys accidentally fires on Sachilde, I'll pretend I didn't see it. Just sayin'." With that, she closed the channel and opened another to begin berating the afore-mentioned Sachilde. Unless his sensors were down, all his communications malfunctioning, and he was suddenly struck with total blindness, he had no excuse for letting that last bogey past him.

Later she confronted Dylan with the sad military state of their most recent additions. In an interesting shift from the usual, Beka and Telemachus argued on one side against Dylan and Harper.

"C'mon boss, they just need to get used to…"

"What, everything? We don't have time to send them to boot camp."

"Captain," Dylan cut in, "I believe the Admiral and I were the only ones here who have attended boot camp. Most of our best fighters here have never seen the inside of a military school in their lives."

"I know. Hey, I didn't learn piloting from any fancy school. But most of those best fighters are Nietzscheans, as little as I like to admit it… no offense, Telemachus."

"None taken. In fact, I agree with you. For Nietzscheans, every day is a battle… what is it, Captain?" he asked when he saw Dylan shiver.

"Nothing. You just reminded me of another Rhade for a second there."

Harper took the brief pause that ensued to continue his defense of 'the little guy', as he termed the newest additions to the alliance. "What, you don't think that life on Earth wasn't a battle every day?"

"Harper, no one's saying that," Beka replied. "The newly-freed slave worlds are the only ones, actually, who've sent us any decent fighters."

"I hate to say this, Captain," Telemachus added, "but a few of our allies have fallen victim to the curse that ultimately led to the first Commonwealth's destruction… they've known peace for so long that they've neglected their militaries. I am far from a warmonger, but soon they will know more of war than they care to. Either we teach them, or the Magog will."

Dylan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So what would you two like to suggest? I can't kick them out and leave them to the tender mercies of the Genites and the Magog."

Beka was at a loss here; her purpose in speaking had been to convince Dylan of the urgency of the affair and leave the most command-minded crewmembers to hash out a solution. Telemachus, however, was both command-minded and possessed of a few ideas.

"You're not going to like this, any of you, and neither do I, but it's the only idea that seems both feasible and effective. I propose we stop coddling them with occasional exercises and let the Nietzschean Alliance completely take over their training."

Beka made a face but didn't add her objections to those of the rest of the assembled party. The protests were token, really, as no one had any better ideas – any ideas, period – and they all recognized the serious state of their allies. What made this prospect of delivering hapless humans into Nietzscheans hands even brighter was the certainty that she would be the one to deliver the news to the latter. Somehow, between performing favors for Nietzscheans and diplomatic missions to stop them from bolting, she had been appointed unofficial liaison to the allies _invictus_. So that made her FTA ambassador to the Nietzscheans? It made her head hurt to think about.

"What could possibly have made you believe that we would agree to babysit your ludicrous brethren?" Tyr thundered at her when she finished explaining Telemachus's idea.

Okay, so Tyr might have said that she understood Nietzscheans, but shouldn't the Admiral be here with – or ideally, instead of – her? She couldn't quote any handy passages from Nietzsche, Sun Tzu, _or_ Machiavelli that might apply here. In fact, she couldn't quote any of the big three on much of anything. If this unofficial position of hers threatened to last much longer, she might actually have to read something easy-ish by one of them. Come to think of it, she'd heard _the Prince_ was short, but doubtless Tyr wouldn't approve of a reading in anything but the original language, whatever dead Earth language that might be.

"I think it's a charming idea," Charlemagne said, to the surprise of his two companions. "Just think, the bumbling Castalians and the like transformed into hard, capable warriors worthy of the name."

Tyr looked skeptical. "That's a rosy picture you paint."

"Isn't it? And continue to imagine, if you please, how the rest of the Known Worlds will react to the transformation the first time the Genites provoke a scuffle, as they soon shall. If our rabble might defeat those infuriating kludges… my apologies, Captain."

"No problem. I won't need to worry about an 'Über' slipping out now."

"Indeed. As I was saying, such a transformation would open the minds of our potential allies to the possibility of other miracles, such as the long-delayed Commonwealth defeat of the Magog, with generous support from the Nietzschean Alliance."

_That_ was what she should have said, dammit, and Charlemagne hadn't even needed to quote anyone. Tyr relented, and they spent the rest of the day working out the details of such an arrangement. Charlemagne may have been a bit optimistic in his scenario, but if the Nietzscheans could effect half that improvement, she would rejoice. She also thought with relief that it was to be Dylan who delivered the news to the rabble.

That night, a clandestine agent for the FTA was to dine with her and gauge the progress her allies were making in building themselves a force capable of repelling the Magog and keeping the Genites at bay. Her meeting with the Nietzscheans was long and as productive as any discussion between Nietzscheans could be, especially considering that these were two of the more intelligent and cooperative of the lot. Because of this, Beka jogged to her ship as soon as they wrapped up, but Tyr caught up with her and asked for a moment of her time. She resigned herself to being fashionably late to her dinner and wondered idly if the FTA was sending similar agents to the Genites.

To her very great surprise, he invited her to dinner and, though she would not have admitted it under torture, she genuinely regretted that she had to refuse. On the other hand, it was always a good thing, she reasoned, to be unavailable for a man's – particularly a Nietzschean man's – every whim. They fixed on the very next night for their… what? Beka could hardly believe Tyr thought of it as a date.

He left her when they concluded, and in an absurd twist of fate, she found Charlemagne waiting for her in the hangar. She began to wonder if her soap was imbibed with some sort of Nietzschean pheromone when he too asked her for the pleasure of her company over a meal, much more elegantly than Tyr had. Whereas she regretted refusing Tyr's invitation because she found she like the taciturn man and his spare, unpredictable conversation, she regretted refusing Charlemagne because she was exceedingly curious as to why _he_ should invite her to dinner.

But Charlemagne was apparently a busier man than Tyr, or least had a fuller social calendar, and they couldn't immediately agree on a date for the raincheck. He reserved the right, he said, to look her up on his next free evening, and she replied truthfully that she could probably be free whenever he did so. Now that she was the Andromeda's XO, her evening plans rarely varied – either shifts in Command, strategic conferences, or a few hours dedicated solely to Beka Valentine.

She arrived on the pre-arranged drift just as her business date was ordering her drink, which meant that she had very recently arrived herself. She didn't offer to order Beka an alcoholic beverage but claimed that she'd heard great things about a spicy fruit beverage unique to the establishment. Obviously, the woman had done her homework, Beka thought with pleased surprise.

They made small talk for awhile and eventually fell into the 'what is a girl to do in the old boys' club' mode of conversation, which Beka had a weakness for now and again, and, as much as she liked Rommie and Trance, didn't think either would quite understand the feeling. The agent was a very easy talker, and Beka found herself talking about the Commonwealth, the Nietzschean Alliance, and their chances against the Genites and Magog hardly aware of doing so.

"They're an eyeful, aren't they?"

"The Nietzscheans. Yeah, you know it."

"Any interesting prospects?"

Beka recognized by now what the woman was doing but didn't care to stop her. A night spent gossiping was much preferable to an old-fashioned debriefing any day. "Interesting, yes, prospects, no. Don't get me wrong, I've thought about it, but they're all too caught up in their grand destiny and their cultural weirdness. A girl would have to be braver than me and have a lot more time on her hands to get involved in something like that." All true, strictly, but she did think on rare occasions that one or two of them might have held promise, had they known each other under different circumstances.

"Too true. And I hear Anasazi's saddled with a kid. Know anything about that?"

_Don't show too much surprise, she'll know you're over-doing it_. "A little." If the woman knew about Tamerlane at all, she must know his importance. "Kid's supposed to be… well, it isn't something I should be spreading around, but I think you get my drift. In any case, ultra top secret hideout. I doubt even the esteemed Triumvirs know where he is."

The agent seemed satisfied and changed the subject. The evening passed quickly, and Beka was sorry when they finished dessert and paid the bill, the FTA picking up the tab. It almost made her regret not having ordered an outrageously priced bottle of champagne, little matter that she wouldn't have enjoyed any. Beka wondered what the agent was going to say about her to her handler.

The Maru's old crew surprised her by appearing in the hangar soon after she landed. Trance thought they hadn't been spending enough time together lately and had planned pajama party for them in Beka's quarters. Beka laughed at that; her quarters were among the largest of the Andromeda, cleaner than Harper's, and less mysterious than Trance's or Rev's, both private people in their own ways. Rev apologized with a glint of humor in his eye for not owning a proper pair of pajamas. Harper protested that he slept in his underwear, and Beka replied while that he was free to cavort naked in his quarters if he so desired, he was keeping his clothes _on_ whilst in hers.

Harper asked her how he date was, for that was all she'd told anyone about her appointment. She answered with a grin that Ms. Toliynda ben de Korschan, not her real name, had been very charming.

"A chick? A _spy_ chick!"

"We're called 'ladies', Harper, and you're close. She determines whether or not it's worth it for the FTA to continue their tacit support of me and this whole deal."

They talked for hours, eating whatever Andromeda's autochef could come up with that held the least nutritional value, catching up and laughing at the oddities of their allies. When Harper asked how she liked being liaison to the Übers, she said that is going so well that they had both asked her out earlier that day. Usually she would have added that they were _Nietzschean_s, not Übers, but she remember Charlemagne's crack and kept silent. Harper in turn regaled them with tales of his work on Andromeda and failure to get anywhere with the female Tara Zed officers. Trance and Rev were also busy, spreading peace, love, and understand as well as contributing their unique talents – biology/medicine and linguistics/cultural studies respectively – to a crew of intelligent but hopelessly one-track minded personnel.

As they talked, Beka found herself sorry that they seemed to have drifted during their time on Andromeda and even before, when they had lived on Earth with the fledgling resistance. With a full crew compliment, four people inevitably got a little lost. She realized that she had missed them lately during her duties spent in serious discussion and near-arguments with Dylan, Telemachus, the distant Triumvirs, and the too-close Nietzscheans. Trance caught her eye for a moment and smiled like she knew exactly what Beka was thinking.

The next day, it was back to business as usual with the same people and even higher levels of tension than usual. Dylan wanted to issue a formal offer of détente to the Genites, an offer of temporary peace and cooperation against the Magog. One of the Triumvirs had arrived in person during the night, and, to everyone's surprise, she agreed with Dylan's idea. Tyr and Beka tried to take them out of this insanity, while Telemachus and Charlemagne mostly listened. Tyr was bitterly angry, comparing it to the original Commonwealth's compromise with monsters and threatening again to quit the alliance if this came to pass.

She felt - had always felt - a little lost among these people, politicians whatever else they might be and wielding heavy clout through the Known Worlds. She was just Beka Valentine, cargo runner, occasional smuggler, and involuntarily, if not unwillingly, liaison between three distinct groups because she had the rare knack of not pissing any of them off too much. Dylan had assured her that she was necessary, that no one else he knew could talk to people quite like she did, but at times like this, discussing intergalactic strategy, she felt a little out of her league. But, in true Valentine style, she showed none of her uncertainty and faced the challenge head-on. Ignatius Valentine would have been proud.

In the end, Dylan and the Triumvir had persuaded the rest of them that the olive branch couldn't hurt them and could only do them good – or at least convinced Tyr not to physically stop him from sending the message. It was accomplished that very day, and when Tyr and Beka left for their dinner, the former was still in a bad mood.

"Good Lord, you're cranky," she'd exclaimed in exasperation. "Maybe we should reschedule."

After such an open display of frustration, Tyr mellowed out until he was almost a pleasure to be around. He had asked her here, he said, to thank her for the services she had rendered for him despite the very great danger to herself and also to relax them both, which they obviously needed. They spent almost an hour in good spirits, and things got weird.

"So," she said, looking mischievous, "have you noticed love in the air lately?"

He set down his wine glass hard and looked… something between confused and resigned. "I was afraid of this," he began. "I told you, I wished merely to express my gratitude for what you've done, Beka and perhaps let us both relax from the past stressful months."

"What?" Then it hit her what he was saying. "What! No, Tyr, I… no. I meant Rommie. You haven't noticed how she looks at Dylan?"

Now he looked embarrassed, just as he should, and rather more relieved than Beka liked. "Oh. Well-"

"Hey, no need to look so overjoyed, buddy," Beka interrupted. "What, am I some kind of untouchable to you people?" _Stay cool, Beka. _

"Nothing of the kind, but it _is_ rare that a Nietzschean becomes romantically involved with a human. His progeny would be outcasts and his family deeply shamed."

"So, love and a good roll in the hay mean nothing to Nietzscheans, then?"

"I… remind me, why are we discussing this?"

"You brought it up. 'Oh no Beka, please, the thought of becoming _romantically involved_ with you makes me and my entire people sick to out stomachs'," she said mockingly.

"I do not appreciate you attributing opinions to me which I have never expressed. The thought of you in that manner does _not_ make me sick to my stomach. Do you think I would have trusted _him_ with you and returned to Andromeda after that debacle if you made me sick to my stomach?"

She scoffed. "I'm good at what I do, but hell, I can say the same about a lot of people who make my stomach turn."

"I do not understand why you insist on twisting my words, Beka, and prolonging this debate."

"Yeah, well, neither do I. All I know is that I'm pissed the hell off."

"I don't know what I can do to remedy your condition," he spat. "What would you like me to say? Not only are you good at what you do, you are intelligent, courageous, beautiful, and, when you're not arguing the finer points of Nietzschean philosophy, even pleasant company. If you were a Nietzschean or I were not…" Tyr's words seemed to catch up with him, and he looked just as surprised as she felt. They looked at each other, lost in an awkward silence.

Beka was shocked out of her anger, and her voice was uncertain when she spoke. "Okay, well, glad to get that out of the way, whatever it was."

Their conversation slowly defrosted, and they finally did relax, per Tyr's design. By the time they finished and Tyr paid, Beka could even venture a quip about how any human would have considered such a dinner paid for by the man a date.

"Except me, of course, because I _understand_ Nietzscheans."

"If you'd feel better reimbursing me for your portion, I would not stand in your way."

She laughed. "Very funny. I hear you were paid more for one job than I made in a year. I was never one for principle anyway – much more of a pragmatist."

When Beka reflected later on the episode, she remembered that he had said that he'd been expecting this, her avowal of love or something. What an incredible ego that man possessed, and what exactly was that supposed to have meant, she wondered. She thought wryly that if he had run a thorough background check on her, he would have discovered that her taste in men was absolutely terrible, and did he really want to include himself in that category? Come to think of it, though, they did tend to dangerous and very attractive, not unlike Tyr.

Less than a month after he'd sent his offer, Dylan had his answer. They had begun to believe the Genites had written it off as hopeless and strategized accordingly. Finally, Rommie informed him one morning that a courier ship was requesting to board with an urgent message. He agreed immediately, and led Rommie, Beka, and Telemachus to the airlock. The last two unholstered weapons that Dylan eyed askance but did not comment on.

They met just coming out of his ship an extraordinarily fit young man who walked towards them with a quick stride. He looked altogether too clean-cut to be a courier to Beka, and it hit her that he held himself much like Dylan or Telemachus. What was more, couriers were usually content to stay in their ships, transmit their message, and leave as soon as possible because in that profession, time was money.

She powered up her gauss gun and aimed it at the man, and Telemachus was perhaps half a second behind her. Dylan wasn't fazed in the least to her great surprise and regarded them with mild curiosity. Rommie kept her eyes trained on the man.

"Who are you," Beka demanded, "and who are you working for? I've met a lot of couriers, and you don't look like any message boy I've ever seen."

The man flushed at being called a message boy, and Beka knew she was right despite his protests that he worked for Tri-Gal Communications.

"If I were you," Dylan said in a friendly voice, "I'd start telling the truth before she gets annoyed. She's been spending a lot of time around Nietzscheans lately and probably not in the best of moods."

It was an effort to keep her expression menacing; she wanted to laugh aloud. So it was going to be good cop/bad cop. Yeah, she could play the bad cop all right. She glared and brought her gun to eye level, aligning the man's head in her sights.

Dylan's voice remained pleasant when he continued. "I'm warning you. She'd be only too happy to take her anger out on somebody, and if she misses, the Admiral won't." He indicated Telemachus with a nod.

The man's face contorted in a sneer, and Beka's suspicion was confirmed. "If you don't start talking, Genite piece of crap, I'll shoot to disable and let the nastiest Nietzschean I know finish the job. Slowly." She began squeezing the trigger.

"Yes, you're right," he nearly shouted. "I'm here to deliver a message from the Patriarch himself on behalf of the Knights of Genetic Purity."

"Keep talking."

"I have coordinates on my ship where he wants to meet with you, Captain Hunt. He wants to talk."

For the first time during this exchange, Rommie spoke up. "And the forcelance in your coat is a gift to prove your good intentions, of course."

The soldier's head whipped around. "My- what?"

"I'm sorry, I neglected to introduce the ship's avatar, Rommie to her friends. You may call her Andromeda or ma'am."

Beka watched the soldier mentally run through his options. Obviously he had expected this to be easier. "It's for my personal protection," he said. "We weren't sure what kind of welcome to expect."

Dylan laughed. "We're the ones who extended the offer, remember?"

"It could have been a trap."

"Wrong answer," Beka broke in. "We thought you were a courier till I dragged it out of you. I know one guy whose entire family and mot of his Pride you people killed a few years back. I think I'll let him have you first."

"Okay, okay! My instructions were to assess the situation upon arrival and kill Captain Hunt if possible. After I delivered my message, my ship was to malfunction, so I'd have to stay on board for several hours and observe. If the opportunity were to present itself…"

"I see. Captain Valentine doesn't seem likely to part with her gun, so I'll ask Rommie to relieve you of your weapon and escort you to V-deck."

One of the man's hands flew to the high collar of his coat, and Beka shot him just above the knee, thinking he was reaching for his forcelance. He didn't even scream before crumpling to the floor.

Beka's eyes widened, and her gun arm fell to her side. "That wasn't me," she whispered.

Rommie approached the body and examined it for a minute. "He's dead, probably some kind of poison from the Genites." She squinted at nothing in particular, and then looked at Dylan in shock. "We'd better get out of here. The Genite's ship is set to self-destruct in ten seconds." She scooped up the corpse and flung it across her shoulder, and all four dashed into the nearest corridor.

"I'm expelling the contents of the airlock right now," she announced as soon as the hatch closed. "The ship's autodestruct have been programmed to his pulse or brain wave activity."

"Isn't the routine usually for the ship to blow up on his signal or as soon he dies, so they guy gives an incentive for us not to kill him?"

Rommie nodded. "That is the common method. I'll admit that I don't understand it, but it was obviously a strategy to prevent us from finding out what was on the ship rather than from saving the pilot's life."

Dylan stared at the sealed hatch. "I wonder if that was the message."

"What do you mean?"

"That this was all a test to see if we're worthy. They didn't really want to kill us, but they wanted to make sure that we would make negotiations worth their time," Telemachus said.

Dylan nodded. "Exactly. Rommie, could you search the body for a disc?" He looked at the corpse as the android dumped it on the deck. "I wonder if he even knew."

Beka didn't think this was the time to start pitying Genite assassins, but she held her tongue. The soldier _had_ been pretty young, almost a kid. It gave her one more reason to hate the Genites, as if genocide and threats to personal security weren't enough.


	12. Surprises

Author's Note: I don't know how PG-13 translates to wacky rating system, but this chapter is a definite PG-13 for some lurvin' behind the scenes (I changed the story's rating to T… I hope that's sufficient). All I do is provide the chocolate evil grin

ON TO

Chapter Twelve:

"Very clever, Captain," the sharp-faced man on screen said by way of greeting.

"You must be the man who sends children to their pointless death."

The man clicked his tongue. "You were always an idealist, Captain. That's why you were always paired with hard-headed realists, like the first officer your admiral so resembles."

Beka thought it odd that the Patriarch, as the head of the Genites ludicrously styled himself, addressed Dylan as if he'd known the captain before the Fall. She noticed with admiration that Dylan, who usually went a bit pale at the mention of an earlier Rhade, remained calm, his gaze steady.

"It's a good system," he replied. "It's a shame you can't see that."

The Patriarch laughed. "A good system, you call it? Tell me, Captain, how is it that the Andromeda fell into the black hole in the first place? Her engines should have been sufficient to break free of the gravitational pull at your distance from the event horizon. Could it be that sabotage was at the heart of your 300 year nap?" He leaned forward, so his face loomed over Command. "Tell me whose fault it _really_ is that Ferrin was never brought to justice."

Beka saw uneasily that Dylan was shocked. He swallowed and suddenly ordered everyone out of the room and asked Andromeda for privacy mode. There was no use arguing, not even for Telemachus who could have pulled rank on Dylan. The latter would keep silent until the other man left, he said when Telemachus suggested that he stay with the captain.

They filed out without a further word. When the hatch closed behind them, Beka turned to face Telemachus. "The hell do you think that was about?"

Telemachus shook his head. "I only have a vague idea. The Patriarch must have been speaking of my ancestor… perhaps Gaheris and Dylan were engaged in a mission that failed, involving a criminal or some such named Ferrin. Judging by the captain's shock, it must have been a highly classified mission."

"But how would that Genite know about it?"

"There I have not a notion. I can't imagine why the record would have been preserved all this time."

"Too weird."

They stood in silence for awhile, then Beka asked Telemachus how he though the Genites were going to respond to Dylan's offer. He replied briskly that he couldn't say, and Beka could see that he was bothered by the possibility of détente with them. Silence re-ensued until Dylan recalled them to Command.

"If you ever doubted it, I can reassure you that the Patriarch is completely insane," he said as they entered.

The man onscreen chuckled. "You know it's true, Captain. Give yourself time but not too much. After the Knight of Genetic Purity defeat the Magog horde, we will return to cleanse the Known Worlds once and for all of the genetically-engineered epidemic. You have one last chance to give up your laughable Commonwealth revival and join the Knights. You would be most welcome among our ranks."

"My mother was a heavy G worlder. Eventually, you'd come after me."

"As you wish. I didn't really expect you to gain common sense during your 300 year sleep. I'm sorry you're on the wrong side this time," he finished and disappeared.

When Beka asked what had happened while they were out of Command, not expecting a direct reply, he surprised her by explaining that the Patriarch claimed to be Admiral Stark, a famous politician and soldier in the first Systems Commonwealth. She had assigned Dylan and Gaheris to the Andromeda, among other missions, and was also Sara's aunt. The Patriarch asserted that his consciousness have been transferred from one body to another over 300 years as s/he'd rebuilt the Knights of Genetic Purity after their initial destruction by the Nietzscheans.

The man _did_ possess knowledge of classified matters Stark would have been privy to, but his explanation must be false. It was ridiculous from a scientific perspective. Andromeda agreed but added that the Commonwealth could have kept secret such technology from all but top scientists and leaders, unlikely as it seemed.

"Yeah, we can debate the validity of his claims till Harper's Terran cows come home, but I think the Genite mentioned something a little more pressing," Beka said before anyone else could argue the possibility of this Stark's transmitting her memories between bodies. "He said he was going after the Magog. Do we think he's capable of succeeding?"

"You're the ones who have seen these people rise to power. From what I've gathered, they have the best technology around, but if the Worldship can't be defeated solely by conventional force, then they're lost."

Telemachus nodded at Dylan's reply. "They're three hundred years ahead of the rest of the Known Worlds. They didn't lose everything in the Long Night like everyone else did. Tara Zed was able to avoid the worst of the Fall, but we didn't progress as the Genites could. They are extremely dangerous but limited in both membership and originality."

Beka remembered when the Knights of Genetic Purity first declared themselves the saviors of humanity about two years ago. They had the best ships and weapons of anyone – not even the Restors could get to them – and they acted fast enough to crush the main bastions of resistance, namely the large Nietzschean prides, before they could organize.

With all their firepower, they could control large areas of space and the major slipstream nexii, and no one guessed how few of them there really where. Their pool of recruits was necessarily limited; the number of completely unmodified – pure, they said – humans was very small, less than ten percent of the population and as low as three percent according to some estimations; And then they had to find those who combined hatred of Nietzscheans, discipline, and skill in sufficient quantities. Hell, Harper possessed all three to some extent, and he fought against them as passionately as any Nietzschean.

"In any case," Dylan continued, "the Genites rejected our offer of détente, so that's one less thing to worry about. I realize that none of us were thrilled with the idea, and Tyr will be saved the trouble of plotting my unlikely demise. We have three eventualities to plan for now: the Genites will return triumphant and turn their fleet on us; they'll return victorious but weakened; or they won't return at all, and we'll know the Magog are still headed our way."

It wasn't pleasant to hope for a Genite victory; the ideal situation was that the two warring parties would kill each other off. No one had any idea as to how long such a battle would last, for no one knew precisely the level of technology the two had at their disposition. All the allied members could do was wait for news and plan worst-scenario strategies.

The only good news they received was the astounding improvement o their new human allies. Beka tagged along with Telemachus to inspect the troops, citing her key role in arranging the cooperation of the Nietzschean allies, and dying of curiosity to know how "the rabble" was faring under Nietzschean tutelage. Some of the humans wore expressions of relief at seeing the Admiral, others resentment, but Beka had to admit that their training had done them a world of good. It was apparent even in the way they held themselves, straight and strong and quiet. Tyr was occupied elsewhere, so Charlemagne described the methods and exercise they'd employed, tossing sarcastic comments left and right but glowing with pride at the change they had wrought.

The humans performed beautifully in the war games they staged that day. Beka was hard-pressed to keep from being 'shot' – painted with harmless lasers – and managed to clip many less than she'd expected. To top of the surprisingly pleasant day, Telemachus offered to write the entire report for the Triumvirs and dismissed her as soon as they finished the games. Charlemagne took the opportunity to invite her to the dinner they'd been unable to eat earlier, and as she had nothing else to fill her evening, Beka accepted. He apologized that he had not reserved places at a decent restaurant and hoped she would not object to dining in his Spartan quarters.

She doubted the word Spartan could ever be applied to Charlemagne Bolivar, and she was still amazed when she saw how he lived on his flagship. Genuine wood shone, fine fabrics glistened, and even the shadows were velvety.

"Nice digs," she commented upon entering. "Bet your wives love living better on a ship than most queens do at home."

"I'm sure similar thoughts have crossed their minds, but none of them are here with me now. My first wife has recently borne me her second child, and when my wives are not occupied with him and the others, they have their share of excitement aiding me in management of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride. It's quite possible, of course, that they are conspiring to overthrow me and assassinate me before I return, but what would life be without such lively strife?"

"You hardly need the Magog or the Genites to keep life interesting."

He laughed and let her to what she supposed one might call a sitting room were they not aboard a military vessel. A porcelain and silver cutlery set lay on a low table beside a plush divan. A graceful bottle stood near two champagne flutes, and as he went to open it, Charlemagne assured Beka that the beverage would be to her taste, which she correctly assumed to mean it wasn't real champagne but some kind of sparkling fruit juice. The Arch-duke proposed a toast to an enduring alliance, and they clinked glasses.

"Honestly, though, you really think this alliance will last much longer than the defeat of whomever is left after the Genite/Magog confrontation?" Beka inquired once they were seated. She wasn't sure what she was eating, but it was swimming in a garlic butter sauce and tasted absolutely divine.

"Diplomatically, I should hope so, but we are realists, you and I, so I will acknowledge the truth of your words." He picked up a silver knife and spread a pinkish paste on a thin, golden cracker which he proceeded to hand to Beka. "I was not speaking of the larger alliance in which we find ourselves, but _our_ relationship, the Arch-duke of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride and the twice-over ambassador, if I'm not mistaken."

If possible, the pink stuff was even better than the buttery things. Beka reached for the thick-sliced bread in a basket and discovered it was still hot. She _never_ ate like this and was determined to make the most of it, if that meant eating herself sick. "You're not. Do you keep a private chef in your entourage or just multi-talented bodyguards?"

"de Chamonix thinks of himself as a chef before anything else, even his race. He is incidentally from the same world as your Chief Engineer."

"He's a mudfoot?"

Charlemagne chuckled. "Are you so hard on your Terran brethren, Beka, to think them incapable of creating such culinary delights as we have before us? His family has preserved ancient Earth techniques and recipes since before the Fall, even before Earth's adherence to the Systems Commonwealth."

"So, in a manner of speaking, this pink stuff is older than your species, huh?"

"Beka, you are quite a refreshing fount of good humor in these trying times! But please, the pink stuff is properly called 'foie gras'."

During the main course, Charlemagne asked her too innocently about her dinner with Tyr. An amused glint shone in his eyes as he spoke.

"The food wasn't this good, but I did get some… interesting insights into the Nietzschean psyche."

"Tell me, was he good enough to wait until the entrée to disparage your species?"

She sipped her drink. "I don't remember. Tyr doesn't strike me as the gossipy type, and I know _I_ didn't share that part of the evening with anyone."

"You are wondering if I sat in the decorative shrubs with binoculars, so I might read your lips. No, I merely suspected he might say something of such poor taste, given half an opening. The First Regent takes his duty to his son and the Nietzschean people very seriously, and you attract him more than he likes."

"It's truly a curse," she returned with a put-upon sigh. "Do you spend any time listening to our strategic discussions, or are you too busy determining who is attracted to whom?"

"You sound like the man himself, my dear Captain. I pray you will not blame me if I admit that the interpersonal dynamics are by the far the most fascinating aspect of my time here. I shall be sorry when such an intriguing gathering of personalities must one day disband. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Sure."

Charlemagne set their dishes to one side beside the remnants of their appetizer and returned from an adjoining compartment with another silver tray that smelled like dessert. After he had seated himself, the Arch-duke lifted the top off the tray to reveal a tall, silver pot filled with liquid chocolate, surrounded by small bowls of fruit.

"If that's real, I will marry you right here." She reached for a raspberry, but Charlemagne gently deflected her.

"Please, allow me." He ignored the tongs atop the silver fondue pot and dipped the berry directly into the chocolate, then brought it to Beka's mouth. Her lips brushed his fingertips, spotted with dark chocolate. "As for your offer, I do not think that the Jaguar Matriarch would approve the match. But I do wish that we shall continue our acquaintance beyond this alliance."

"What do you mean?"

His long, slender fingers found a strawberry this time, dipped it into the chocolate, and fed it to her. "I mean that you may be reluctant to return to a career running cargo for shifty merchants, and it is uncertain whether those merchants will associate with you after you have been such a public feature. I do not mean this as a threat, you understand, but it is a fact I'm sure has crossed your mind."

Beka picked up a slice of peach, dipped it, and served to it to Charlemagne. When she began to bring her hand down, he caught it in one of this and sucked every trace of chocolate from her fingers. The warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, and the texture of his tongue sent a shiver through her. This was far from a lecture on how Nietzscheans didn't carouse with humans and much more pleasant, though also quite a lot more confusing.

"I mean that I would like to offer you employment at the highest levels of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride." The man's actions were strongly at odds with his business-like tone. "You would be far from the only human we employ, and I believe positions could be found for the crew of the Eureka Maru, should you insist upon it." He fed her a chocolate-covered slice of pear.

"What exactly would I be doing under you, Charlemagne?"

He smiled a little at her double-entendre. "What you seem best at, Captain, inter-species diplomacy. You can't imagine the risk I am running now, for instance, yet I can't resist the opportunity to spend a few hours in your charming company."

"Risk? You're afraid your mudfoot might have poisoned the chocolate?"

"No, my dear Beka, the risk of inviting your to my quarters at such an hour and feeding you the most decadent food I have to offer. Some inordinately curious people might, you know, construe from the affair that I harbor impure intentions towards you."

"Mm, I can't imagine why. Watch this." After selecting five large raspberries from the bowl, she firmly pushed one onto each of her fingertips. She wiggled her fingers, each adorned with its own scarlet hat. One by one, she dipped them into the fondue. "One for me," she said after eating the berry on her thumb. "I'll keep your offer in mind, but I have to ask, why me? I'm sure you have people trained for the sort of work you're looking for. And one for you." She wasn't just talking about the employment he spoke of.

"Naturally, but such career workers are so unoriginal. They lack spirit and passion and certain touch. I believe such an association would be mutually beneficial for the two of us, and the risks for you, though not inconsiderable, are mild compared to those I should incur."

"One for me. While no one has made me an offer as complete as this, Tyr has assured me of his gratitude, and Dylan trusts me implicitly. I wouldn't like to lose the friendship of either, especially if this alliance falls apart, and any of the parties turns against any of the others. One for you."

"I admire your pragmatism in this matter, I truly do. You wouldn't be nearly so promising otherwise. Rest assured that the parties you speak have will never have reason to mistrust you on my account."

"In any case, we have a more pressing concern before us, Charlemagne. Who gets the last raspberry?"

The lady, of course. Oh, but you've left a bit of something behind, I'm afraid." He brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "Persistent little spot. I can think of only one way to remove it."

As he leaned forward, she asked if he were lying about the bit of something.

"Clever girl," he murmured before kissing her deeply.

What the hell, she thought. He was rich, handsome, and under no illusions whatsoever about the nature of their… association.

"Thank for the lovely evening," Beka said as she finger-combed her hair into order.

"It was my pleasure," Charlemagne returned. He swept her an elegant bow and kissed her hand. "You'll forgive me if I don't escort you home?"

"I'd hate to excite any inordinate curiosity."

She had nearly reached the door when he lay a hand on her belly and whispered from behind her, "I don't suppose I could persuade you to stay with me and become a permanent fixture in my quarters." Before she replied, she turned around, and he kissed her hard against the locked door.

"I've already done the married man thing," she said when they parted. "And besides, Valentines don't do permanent. We're phobic little kludges that way."

He laughed. "I fear you'll never pardon me for that remark. But I don't believe you. One day, you will stumble upon a man who will shock you into commitment, and you won't know what happened. Until then, however, I hope we can make the occasional space on our respective social dossiers for dinner together."

"Why, Charlemagne, I had no idea you were a romantic at heart."

"Nor did I." He pressed the panel that controlled the hatch, and it slid open. "You had best escape before I begin reciting poetry."

"Divine save us from Nietzschean poetry," she said with a smile as she slipped out.

"Good morning, Beka," Andromeda greeted her when she finally docked the Maru in the larger ship's airlock.

"I know you want to ask, but don't. Business meeting went long, and now I'm going to get some sleep."

"As you like."

Beka expected a barrage of questions or at least snarky looks from Andromeda's crew when she entered Command the next morning – or more accurately, later than same morning. But while she'd slept, a courier had arrived with the latest news from the Genite/Magog combat. Dylan and Telemachus looked grave, and Beka paled a little herself when Andromeda displayed images of the battle's remnants. 

The Worldship had sustained heavy damage, and the sun at its center had been reduced to a flickering candle flame. Of the Genite ships there was not a piece larger than a human being left. The smaller, sparkling bits were indistinguishable from the stars in the background. Andromeda projected image after image of this mass graveyard, some up close on the Worldship and others shot wide to show the extent of the battle.

"Did the courier know if any Genite ships survived?" Dylan asked, voice brittle – strong but very near its breaking point.

Rommie answered for her ship's self. "Ships survived, but none of the Genites. When the battle began to turn against them and the Magog swarmed their first ships, the Genites opened fire on their own. A handful of infected ships opened slip-portals before their comrades could fire upon them. They delivered these images and logs to San-Ska-Re," – a powerful but neutral world in the rising conflicts – "before self-destructing. As far as anyone know, none of the Magog from the Worldship remain alive in the Known Worlds."

They had fought to the bitter end, but who would ever know why? Each member of the Command crew and the visiting Triumvir was lost in thought until Telemachus spoke up. "Do we know how the Genites were able to damage the Worldship's sun?"

"I can guess that they used a Nova variant, but as powerful as it was from the radiation left behind, it should have completely annihilated the star. The records we received are fragmentary and provided by minor support ships, none likely to possess knowledge of the composition of the modified Nova."

"We must send a scout immediately," the Triumvir said from her place beside Telemachus. Shocked faces turned towards her. "We can mourn for the fallen at hour leisure, but now the Magog are little likely to spare the energy to chase off a small ship which may wander that way. The Genites came near to destroying that abomination, and if we are to try our strength against it, we must know why they failed."

Dylan nodded. "That seems the wisest course of action. Beka, would you do the honors?"

She wanted nothing more than to refuse, but the survival of the Known Worlds might depend on the Commonwealth-Nietzschean alliance now. And the alliance had no pilot better suited for this mission than Beka Valentine. "You can count on me. Just… don't tell any of my crew before I go."

"Of course."

A minute or two before she opened a slip-portal, a clanking noise behind her startled Beka. "Is somebody there?" she shouted, easing her gun from the holster at her hip.

"Hi Beka, it's just me," Trance called out. "Where are we going?"

"_I_ am going to a very nasty place. I think I should turn around and drop you off at the Andromeda."

"No, that's okay. I'll behave, I promise."

Beka regarded Trance, trying to peer past the innocence and soon gave up the effort. "All right. It'll be nice to have someone around when we get there. We're going to see the Worldship." Beka thought Trance should have been surprised, but she just looked sad.

"They killed all the Genites, didn't they?"

"Yeah."

"Evil can never defeat evil, not in the long run."

Beka wanted to cite historical instances when just that had happened, but it suddenly struck her that Trance might not have the same conception of 'the long run' as most people. "So you knew this would happen?"

"I'm not psychic, Beka. The present is so strange that the future is really had to guess."

"I second that."

They traveled in silence for awhile, and then Trance asked without preamble where Beka had been the night before.

"My official answer to that question is a long business meeting, but you're not gonna buy that, are you?" She sighed. "God, I miss the old days sometimes."

"Me too. Be careful, Beka. Charlemagne is a very dangerous man, and if you've touched him, it will only make him more dangerous because he can't allow that.

Beka barked a short laugh. "He'd just as soon kill me as… I know. I'd hate to find myself on his bad side. But dammit, I am sick and tired of moody looks from Tyr, bizarre bouts of protectiveness from Telemachus, and the weirdness between Dylan and Rommie. With Charlemagne, I know where I stand and what he wants from me, and he's willing to ask for it." She smiled. "He said something I think you'd like, Trance."

"Really?"

"He said, in so many words, that one day I'll find my Prince Charming and be barefoot and pregnant before I know it."

Despite the latter's disapproval of the Arch-duke, Beka saw that Trance couldn't help smiling a little at the this. "Well, just because he can see the obvious doesn't make him a nice man."

"Agreed."

It wasn't so bad seeing the Worldship this time, whether because it was her third time in near proximity, because of the damage it had sustained, or because Trance was with her. The ugly chunks of ships weren't as bad as the molecules of human beings Beka knew were floating all around her.

She had been sent in a specialized surveillance ship, something Dylan called an Odin-class vessel, and the amount of information she was able to pick up astounded her. When she looked up from her console to the Worldship, she noticed that the sun at its center looked veiled, even dimmer than it had in the images she saw on the Andromeda.

"Hey Trance, what do you…" Her words died when she saw Trance staring intently at the craft. For the first time she could recall, sweat darkened the purple girl's pixie features. "I think we can leave now. Yes? Okay? Um, brace for slipstream."

Trance was unusually quiet on the journey home until Beka mentioned off-hand that the Genites might have possessed a modified Nova bomb but that no one else had Harper. The girl looked surprised and then burst out laughing. "Thanks, Beka. No wonder he likes you."

Beka didn't want to think about which 'he' she meant.


	13. Fin

Author's Note: It's probably bad luck to end a story on chapter thirteen, but alas, I must. I'd like to repeat how sorry I am for neglecting this story for so long, and I hope anyone who's still reading this will forgive me. Also, I think I have another Andromeda fic which has never seen so if it does indeed exist, I'll get the first chapter of that uploaded before bed.

I think there's a ref' in here… gold stars to whomever finds it! Oh, wait, after re-reading, there are two.

ON TO

Chapter Thirteen (the last):

One good thing that came out of the Genite slaughter, though no one put it quite that way, was the mass rally of the Known Worlds to the only remaining source of hope, the fledging Commonwealth and the Nietzschean Alliance. Harper had Perseid science and Than resources at his disposal, and he would need all of it to find a way to destroy the Worldship. Beka received a message from one of the chairmen of the F.T.A., an unpretentious title for the men and women who directed the Free Trade Alliance, bestowing upon her the title of High Ambassador and transferring credit to her bank account as retroactive salary from the time they had first approached her. She wanted to protest that she hadn't done anything for the F.T.A., but Telemachus assured her that they were paying her for her mere association with the Commonweath and through her, their place on the signatory treaty. 

Charlemagne's First Wife came to visit him, a point of particular amusement for Beka. The haughty, beautiful woman couldn't understand why Beka could barely keep from laughing every time they saw one another despite the contempt Elsbett made no attempt to hide of everyone who was not Nietzschean. She wasn't used to people laughing at her, and her inability to cow Beka infuriated her. The latter was convinced that Charlemagne relished seeing the two of them in the same room, and in passing he once whispered to her, "Quite a specimen, isn't she? Spirited but completely unoriginal."

One night, after Elsbett had been especially unbearable, Andromeda held a huge party on the Obs Deck, and Beka took her silent revenge on the woman by playing R-rated footsie with her husband. When he caught her eye, she lifted her glass, and he laughed appreciatively. Elsbett turned to see what had amused her husband, but Beka was speaking quietly to her neighbor at that moment, and the Nietzschean woman contented herself with flirting with Dylan, whom she believed to be Beka's lover.

But most of the time was spent less pleasantly, building up a massive fleet and preparing battle plans. Beka was shuttled from one camp to another and lost track of the Maru's crew for days at a time. Weeks passed too quickly, and long before she was ready, Beka was called back to the Andromeda, where the three Triumvirs - one newly elected -announced that the fleet would leave within the week to face the Worldship.

The night before they were scheduled to leave, Dylan called a conference with the Andromeda's crew just after the last battle drill. No one had left their battle stations when the Captain's voice echoed over Andromeda's ship-wide comm channel.

"Good work, people. You've made incredible progress since you first came aboard, and I want you to know how proud I and your Triumvirs are of each of you. You honor the restored Commonwealth with your undaunting loyalty in the face of the horror we will meet tomorrow. We're setting off at 0700 with one of the largest assembled fleets in the history of the Known Worlds, but you will be at the battle's center. The information I am about to share with you is known only to the leaders of our allied governments, but I believe you deserve to know danger we will face.

"With the help of Captain Valentine, Chief Engineer Harper has worked tirelessly with our Perseid associates to create a weapon capable of destroying the Worldship once and for all. Each of our allies, including the Nietzscheans," he added with a dry chuckle, "has agreed to serve as a mass distraction and protection for the Andromeda Ascendant while we launch the weapon.

"This is bigger than us, but you already knew that. As long as one of us remains alive, the Commonwealth will survive. I have utter confidence that you will perform tomorrow at the best of your abilities. Together we hold the line against the night, and we will hold that line tomorrow. Hunt out."

Command was silent, as was doubtless the rest of the ship. Beka was lost in thought, recalling the struggle she had endured to convince the Nietzscheans to agree to Dylan's plan. Tyr had proved particularly stubborn, refusing to sacrifice the entirety of his people - if it came down to that - for a weapon that _should_ work. He had watched his people serve as target practice for the Knights of Genetic Purity and would not present them as cannon fodder for another mad human.

Beka had attempted to force him to see that not a single Nietzschean would remain if Andromeda failed, but he countered that no one knew if Harper's bomb would work and that he could not count on a technobabble miracle to save them. He was immoveable until Beka had asked the others - Charlemagne, Telemachus, and four Nietzschean generals - to leave them alone for a minute.

"I was afraid this might happen," Beka said when they were alone, "and that I might not be able to make you see reason. I guess I _do_ understand Nietzscheans pretty well." She retrieved a disc from a pocke and fed it to her wrist computer unit. "There was only one person I could think of who might succeed." She stood and moved to sit on the armrest of Tyr's chair.

He didn't bother to ask her what she meant but waited for her to reveal her ace. His face was stone, until the disc began to play, and then the sole sign of emotion he showed was a widening of his dark eyes.

"Greetings, husband. If you are seeing this, the Genites have succeeded in the slaughter of my Pride." From the tiny screen, a woman with striking features spoke more strongly than her thin figure and hollow face suggested possible. Beka sneaked a glance at Tyr to see his eyes riveted on her and felt her heart lurch. Would anyone cherish her memory this way if she died in the coming battle?

"I am certain that, though I've not survived, you have saved our son and will continue to save him until he steps into his destiny." The image shifted to a rough cradle and the child inside. His dark eyes, so like his father's, focused on the viewer for a brief moment. "Everything for him, Tamerlane Anasazi, out of Freya by Tyr. As long he lives, so will hope for our fallen people," she finished in an eerie premonition of Dylan's speech a few days later.

The scenary changed, and a face familiar to Beka, an older face with little in common with the first figure beyond premature wear and deeply penetrating eyes. "Freya asked me to keep her message for a day, a need that would make itself known. I considered showing it to you before now, but I am glad I followed her instructions. Freya knew you better than anyone else, I believe, and knew that one day you might be called upon to choose between the present and the future.

"There is no shame in faltering, for yours is a burden few have borne and even fewer borne well. Yet I believe that you will choose as you must and as Freya cold have wished. Your Captain Valentine has explained the quandry you face, and I will counsel only this: many Nietzscheans will die soon, and it is your curse to decide whether they will be warriors with their eyes open or a child who cannot defend himself against the demonic horde that would consume the universe." The scene faded to blackness.

"You think this emotional blackmail will sway me?" Tyr finally asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"No. I think cold Nietzschean logic will. Like Olma said, the present or the future. You might save enough Nietzscheans to retreat to an isolated world and survive there for the months or years it would take the Magog to traverse the Known Worlds. But you'd just buying time, and you know it. You can condemn you son to a slow death that way or you can condemn your soldiers to death in a few days' time, so the Andromeda can with a single stroke annihilate that horde."

Their eyes locked.

"You'rea far harder woman that I suspected, Rebecca. I should have been honored to call you wife and mother in another universe. Very well, I agree to your Captain's scheme." In silent exchange for his concession, she handed him the disc. The others allowed themselves to be persuaded after they were that Tyr supported the human's plan.

"We none of us deserve you, you know," Charlemagne said to her as they separated. He pressed something onto her hand, and when she opened it, she saw a disc. For a confused moment, she thought it was Olma's recording and couldn't do anything more than blink at him in reply. He leaned in and kissed her chastely on the cheek. It was the last time she saw him.

When she returned to her ship and played the disc, she discovered it was one of the music discs her brother had lifted off her years ago. To anyone else, it would have seemed a paltry gift from a man with so much at his disposal, but this had been a part of her father's collection, a stash she had come across on the Maru a few months after her died. Ignatius must have hidden it and forgotten about it, or it would have been pawned during those last terrible years. She played it as she returned to Andromeda and remembered a father who had laughed and loved.

People began stirring again in Command, and Beka forced herself to focus on the present. Later that night she was to have a little party with her crew - she would always think of them as her crew no matter what the future brought - and she was content to think that they knew each other so well that they wouldn't need to put on their brave faces. They didn't even have to think of inspiring 'in case we never see each other again' speeches. They knew what they meant to one another, and that was enough.

The next morning, every eye in Command was bright and alert, even if it had not shut a minute in sleep the night before. Beka piloted the Andromeda through a slipstream route she was beginning to know very well, this time with thousands upon thousands of ships at her back. This time, it was not her but the Magog who should fear her arrival. 

To Beka's horrified surprise, the sun at the center of the Worldship seemed to have returned to its former size. Trance had warned her that whatever drove the Magog was evil, and now she felt the reality of it. To add to her foreboding, the Magog did not wait decently until the opposing forece was organized to send out the first wave of fighters. They destroyed a ship just emerding from slipstream, a Castalian whose intent training had served for nothing, and so fell the first casualty.

"This is it, people. Everyone knows the plan, so let's bring it." Not the most inspiring opening words, but they served their purpose.

Because the allied fleet was fresh and the Magog depleted from their combat with the Genites, the battle turned to the alliance's favor until the Magog were pushed back to the Worldship. To Beka's frustration - though of course she had known all along it would be so - the Andromeda was always accompanied by another fighter in rotation. They didn't want to tip off the Magog as to their intentions before they were ready, but neither could they risk severe damage to the Andromeda.

The Nietzschean-trained humans weren't brilliant fighters, but they functioned as a tight, disciplined unit, and they were responsible for much of the death dealt to the enemy alongside their genetically-engineered, generally-despised cousins. One of the great strengths of the allied fleet was its diversity of style and tactics, so the Magog's experience against one ship was little use against another. Dylan had recognized this advantage and left most of the coordination of individual ships up to the generals to whom he had explained the broad outline of his plan. And the Andromeda had the distinction of killing the most Magog of any single ship in spite of her protection and Dylan's insistence on relative caution.

"This is it," Harper shouted over the ship-wide comm. "The bomb, christened Athena by our goddess of obscure Earth trivia, is ready for her maiden and only voyage, but we need to get a lot closer or Tina's just gonna kill a lot of Magog but leave the Worldship. The Genites got the thermal exhaust port, if you will, now we're gonna bring the bitch down." Beka wasn't sure what the meant by the thermal exhaust port business but didn't doubt it to be another ancient Earth reference. In any case, the import of his words was clear enough.

From the station where he and Telemachus coordinated strategy with dozens of other commanders, Dylan located the nearest clump of allied ships and requested an escort. He muttered something, then looked up at Beka. "Arch-duke Bolivar told me to tell you that he rides to earn his lady's favor. It must be some kind of message to one or all of his wives." He sounded puzzled but forgot it in the next minute as he returned his attention to his station.

Beka swallowed and gripped the controls until her knuckles were white. "We should be in position within half an hour at our current rate," she announced in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

"I'm getting an urgent hail," Rommie shouted. "I don't know who it is, but he claims to have worked with the Genites at the highest levels and to have escaped just now from the Worldship. He also says he knows Trance."

"Let him in," Dylan replied. "I'll make sure he's covered."

As if she'd heard her name, Trance dashed into Command just as Dylan gave his order. "Can I talk to him alone just for a little while? You can't spare anyone else, and it's very important that I see him."

"Go ahead, Trance. I'm not going to waste time asking how you know that you know this person." With that, he dismissed her, and the girl ran off.

In her absence, Harper left his station in Engineering to await the final countdown in Command. Nearly five minutes passed before Trance returned with the escapee, a youngish-looking man with silver-blue skin and Trance's tail and pointed ears. Her looked pinched and nervous, while Trance at his side looked tenser than Beka had ever seen her.

"He's demanding to speak to you, Dylan, but I suggest you ignore him and ask one of the 'bots to throw him out the nearest airlock, if they can."

Beka's attention was distracted by this uncharacteristic speech from Trance, but a burst of Magog fire pointed her focus back at the viewscreen. She kept her eyes glued ahead and her ears open.

"Forgive me, Captain," the man began, "for coming without warning like this. You must not launch you weapon, not from this distance."

"Who are you to give these drastic orders," Telemachus demanded.

"You may call me Oracle, but that isn't important right now. You must know that the one you call Trance has certain abilities beyond the ordinary. You might call it clairvoyance in the most literal sense of the term. Have you thought to ask her what she believes will be the outcome of this struggle?"

Dylan looked between the pair, and his gaze settled on Trance. "No. Make it quick, Trance."

"There's a chance everything will work out, but, okay, it's a pretty small one. A lot of things have gone wrong already."

"What she means is that this isn't the right place and time for most of you. She's known this for a long time, but Trance is something of an optimist. To her credit, she did all she could. She brought the right people here, but her love for her friends has prevented her from taking them to the last step."

"He's lying!"

"Let me decide that. What alternatives are you offering?"

"The weapon must be delivered within the sun's corona, or it will but temporarily slow the Magog, just as the Genite weapon did. I believe he can confirm this." Oracle nodded at Harper.

"What, no! I mean, we'll be more than close enough in a little while. It _might_ increase the effect if Tina were dropped closer, but none of our calculations and simulations could say for sure."

Oracle shook his head. "This is going to be difficult, but it must be said. The weapon will strip the star of its envelope but not reach its core with sufficient strength if it is dispatched from the Andromeda. I doubt you wish to subject you entire crew to deadly levels of radiation poisoning. Only an expert pilot and an engineer sufficently acquainted with the weapon will be able to release it at the necessary moment. Nor can an automated drone or your formidable AI, and up close, the sun would blind mechanical sensors."

"There is nothing," Telemachus roared, "to support your claims. I will not send two of our best to certain death without something more concrete, and you have failed to provide that. Captain, I request that you order this man removed from Command."

Oracle laughed quietly. "You search confirmation of my words? Look into the eyes of Trance Gemini and Seamus Harper. They know that I speak the truth. Ask your ship."

"Like Harper said, that's all conjecture. I-"

"It's okay, Rom-Doll."

Beka whipped her head around, ready to yell at Harper if he said what she feared he would, but their eyes met for a long moment. She gave him a tiny nod and then looked ahead and continued piloting towards the sun.

"We did think of this early on, but none of the simulations showed conclusively that it would help." Harper smiled faintly. "But Rommie conducted all the simulations, didn't you, darlin'?"

"Of course I did." Her voice shook. "I didn't alter any of the data, if that's what you're implying."

"But you suppressed a little."

"Stop it, Harper!" Trance said sharply.

"It wouldn't have made a difference! The chances of two organics positioning the weapon correctly was infinitesimal, and the probability manifested itself in one sole simulation." By the time she finished, Rommie was pleading, tears welling up in her eyes. "Don't do this."

"I know it is painful, but you must set aside emotion for a minute, Captain. You have the evidence before you."

"Captain, we're a few minutes from the drop," Telemachus declared. "Remove the doomsayer and let us proceed as scheduled."

"I can't order to people to death like that, Oracle. I'm a soldier, and I accept casualties in war, but what you propose amount to an execution. On the other hand, it is my duty to sentient civilization to maximize the changed of eliminating the Magog. Therefore, I leave the decisions to anyone who would shoulder this burden."

"Then I volunteer on the condition that I go alone," Telemachus said immediately.

"Sorry, Admiral," Beka called from her station. "Tina has to go in the Maru; he's the only ship we can spare, and you don't know him like I do. _No one_ knows him like I do, and I'm the best pilot we have."

"And no one knows Tina like her creator," Harper added. "It'll be like old times."

"Ahmayid!" Beka shouted. "Take over for me." She stepped away from the controls. "Like I told Tyr, it's the present or the future."

"Beka, Harper, please don't listen to him. I'm not blinded by anything, and I can see what he's trying to do. You two are very, very important, and he just wants to get rid of you so the future fails." Trance tried to rush to her friends, but Oracle blocked her with one arm.

Beka grasped Harper's hand. "We're going, Trance. It can't hurt - everyone's said so - and we have to seize any possibility that we'll get these bastards for good."

"And hey, we've got Rev on our side, so we're guaranteed safe passage when we're done," Harper quipped.

The combined protests of Trance, Rommie, and Telemachus could do nothing to sway Beka and Harper's decision, and the quiet approval mingled with grief in Dylan's eyes reinforced it. The pair left Command amid the desperate cries of their friends. Beka yelled over the din a request that someone would tell Rev good-bye for them, and Dylan nodded.

The corridors were still despite the chaos raging outside. "Khalid, change of plans," Harper said into his sub-dermal communicator, a new update to his dataport, "Get Tina into the Eureka Maru's cargo hold. The lady requested a change of carriage. It doesn't matter why, the Harper says so. Ten minutes is too long... yeah, five minutes ago is more like it."

Beka grinned. "Did you teach them the old 'multiply your estimates by five' trick?"

"Nah, it's instinctual to all engineers. So whaddya think of all this?" His smile was genuine, but his eyes shone too brightly.

"It's a bitch, but it's better than a Flash overdose or a Nightsider hit for dropped cargo."

"Or cholera or Magog infestation."

"You got a thing for slow, agonizing death, kid?"

They continued in silence until they reached the Maru, comfortable in each other's quiet company. A young Nietzschean stood at the hatch and saluted Beke and Harper smartly before leaving.

"Good ol' Khalid. Between him and the Admiral, I may have to reconsider my stance on Nietzscheans."

"Harper," Bek said as she strapped herself in, "no last-minute confessions of undying love, okay?"

Returning from his check on the bomb, Harper laughed. "Gee, boss, are you sure you don't want to hear the epic poem I wrote in your honor? Okay, well, it was more of a limerick. There once was a bug from San-Ska-Re-"

"That is the second time in recent memory someone's offered to recite me poetry, and the answer is the same. NO. Andromeda, permission to leave the table?"

"Permission granted. I - goodbye." Andromeda's simple farewell threw a lull over them.

"Beka, can I make a confession of undying love if it's not the lovey-dovey kind?"

"Ah, Harper, I love you too."

She left the airlock and conversation was suspended as both needed full concentration in their respective tasks - Beka's keeping them alive long enough to die at the right place and time, and Harper's making sure it they didn't die in vain.

"Almost there, boss. Dylan's got us covered, so it's straight on till morning. It's essential that you reach these coordinates, or it's gonna be _really_ awkward when we go back."

"No going back this time."

The Maru groaned under Beka's defensive flight pattern, but he held together like he always did when it counted. Alarms sounded when they approached the sun and Beka ordered her ship to let down the shades. The temperature shot up as they sped towards the star, and Beka felt nausea and dizziness rise in her in an overwhelming wave.

"We made it, Beka," Harper croaked. "Tina's away." He groped his way through the cockpit to stand at her side. He leaned over the edge of her seat and lay his head on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. She grasped his hand, and Tina transformed the sun into a fiery blossom in the night.

Trance brought her fists crashing down on the rough-hewn table that held her miniature tree. She screamed, but at an unexpected noise behind her, she quieted. "You will not succeed," she spat without turning around to identify the source of the noise.

The silver-blue creature, sometimes called Oracle, stepped into her field of vision. "How very strange. I believe I just did, in fact."

Trance laughed then, a terrible sound without a trace of amusement. "That's where your master is mistaken. Oracle is a fitting name for you; all you will ever be is a false prophet for your god of nothingness." As she spoke, the potted bonsai withered, died, and regenerated a tiny shoot.

"Your quaint metaphor is as predictable as your attachment to your pawns. Do you not wish peace for them? I have granted it to them, the Abyss has granted it, and you will insist on tormenting them to infinity."

"Peace? No, I do not wish peace for them or anyone. I wish chaos and mess and _life_ for them and the universe. Spare me your nihilist propaganda."

"Very well." With a startling speed, Oracle seized the clay pot and shoved it over the table's edge, so it crashed on the stone floor beneath them. "I think you will find it difficult to rebuild your future without your precious metaphor."

Trance took a quick step forward and grabbed Oracle's throat in one hand. "That wasn't very nice."

"Killing me will only serve to send me to my master's loving embrace, meddler!"

Trance laughed again, and in the midst of his triumph, Oracle shivered. "I'm not going to kil you. I'm going to show you the punishment I've thought of for you, and then you're going to help me." She released his throat and entwined her fingers in his navy-blue hair, pulling his head down to her eye level.

A second passed, and Oracle saw eternity in Trance's glittering eyes. He began to writhe in her grasp as her fingers dug into his scalp. Thick, mud-colored blood seeped from his scalp and drip down his body until it reached the floor and spread around the shattered pot. Oracle howled and arched backwards so that blood sprayed across the table.

Trance wrinkled her nose at the sight and dropped Oracle at her feet, suddenly unconcerned with him. The clay was damp with blood and malleable enough that she was able to reform it into a pot into which she scooped the fallen soil. She gently tucked in the unharmed bonsai sapling and smiled. Oracle moaned, and Trance turned the force of her smile on him. A high keening escaped him as he dragged himself away from the unbearable agony of the girl exuded.

"Don't worry, Pronoia," she cooed to the shoot. "Trance will make it better. She always does."

The End


End file.
